Unwritten
by RugBern
Summary: Dave Karofsky has been going to college in Portland for a couple of years and rooming with his best friend. Dave does a favor for his friend on a seemingly typical Saturday night, and things change for Dave and another resident of Portland. Based upon a friend's original idea. Rated M. Foul language, drugs/alcohol, graphic sex
1. Unwritten

**Author's note: This is the beginning of a story I suggested to another writer upon a suggestion they had made themselves. It's up to that other writer to continue this story or decline. I don't know where it might go from here.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 2,300.**

* * *

The morning sun was streaming a shaft of sunlight into the window of Dave's bedroom, illuminating the opposite wall and part of his bedsheets. Though the room had been bathed in light for the better part of an hour, Dave startled awake, appropriate to nothing. He shook the sleep out of his eyes and his foggy head and considered the clock on the bedside table: eight-fifty-two. He'd slept later than usual, but it was a Sunday morning and he didn't have anywhere to go, nor any definite plans at the moment. His room was bright: white walls, white vertical blinds, light hardwood floor; markedly different from his dark, woody bedroom at his parents' house out in Lima, Ohio.

He sat upright, threw off his covers, and swung himself around to the edge of the bed, feet landing on the floor. As his newly-awakened mind began to work, he considered the events of the previous evening. They weren't huge events; but they were markedly pleasant, and their recollection brought a smile to his face. He sat for a moment, still smiling, dwelling on the warm memory of the previous evening, before standing upright and approaching his bedroom door.

Beyond the door was the short hallway and the remainder of the two-bedroom apartment which he shared with his best friend and roommate of nearly three years, Thaddeus Scupetti (of course, everybody called him Scoop). Upon Dave's move to Portland two years and nine-and-a-half months before, college freshmen Dave and Scoop were assigned an on-campus dorm room. Unlike a great number of dorm-room arrangements, however, Dave and Scoop became friends almost immediately. Scoop was originally from Eugene, a two-hour drive from his new home; he'd lived in the Pacific Northwest his whole life and was a bottomless and indispensable fund of local knowledge for newcomer Dave. For Dave's part, he was perhaps quieter than Scoop, but he was more grounded and rational. Whereas Scoop might be prone to harmless irresponsibility, it was always Dave that pulled him from the edge of the abyss before it became harmful for him: dragging him back to the dorm when he'd had too much to drink, shutting him up before he made a fool of himself, and making him scarce before Scoop dragged himself (and sometimes Dave as well) into a fight. Scoop was always grateful to Dave the next day, though he might have been cursing him the night prior. On other levels, they were both a natural fit for each other: both young men were athletic and enjoyed informal sports with some of the other guys in their group of friends, both indulged a fierce videogame rivalry which sometimes, during especially intense sessions, degenerated into an actual wrestling match between the two of them (Dave always won: the leaner Scoop was never a match for Dave's more physically-imposing frame), they were regulars at the university's football games, and, if they weren't exactly inseparable, one could always find the other if one was present at campus bars, parties, and rock clubs (Scoop was a scrappy guitar-player and had several friends in local bands, and Dave was developing an affection for the bar-music scene).

After their first semester of dorm-living, Dave and Scoop decided to move into a two-bedroom off-campus apartment. Both had various part-time jobs, sometimes related to the university and sometimes unrelated. Now, solidly in their third year of studies, Dave was actively seeking a summer internship while Scoop was using techniques from his business classes to begin a management company with the frontman of one of the local bands. Despite their more workmanlike focus during the week, the two young men were still likely to cut loose for the weekends.

The previous night had been a little different from the others. Scoop had scoped-out a pretty little Russian girl named Nathalie who wrote poetry, sung for a local band, and had an affection for pop-culture. Her regular hangout was a Doctor-Who-themed bar. Neither Dave nor Scoop had ever been there, but Scoop had designs on the girl and Dave was Scoop's ever-dutiful wingman as he's been many times before. Most of the other times were a mixed-bag of uneventful fun or eventful fun, but the previous Saturday night was pleasant to Dave in a way the others hadn't been. Well, not for a while at least.

Dave, still dressed in the T-shirt and running shorts he'd slept in, was careful to open his bedroom door as quietly as he could. Scoop was rarely up this early on a weekend day, and, though they'd left the bar and returned home at the same time, Scoop was in front of the TV and surfing channels when Dave had retired to his bedroom the previous night. Upon leaving his bedroom this morning, however, to Dave's surprise as he sighted down the hall into the living room, he saw Scoop sitting on the couch in front of the TV wearing the same clothes which he was wearing when they'd returned home the night before. Dave approached less-quietly as he needn't have concerned himself with waking his already-awake roommate.

"Up early today, Scoop?"

Scoop shrugged. "Ah, never made it to my bedroom."

Dave's brow creased. "You feeling okay? You didn't drink that much last night, or at least I thought you didn't."

"Naw, I had a few, but nothing serious."

"You're not bummed-out about that girl are you?"

Scoop chuckled at the suggestion. "_Me?_ Geeze, Dave, I'm well-acquainted with getting shot down by the chicks I'm into. _That's_ nothing new. You should know that by _now_."

_"Just asking."_ Dave's face displayed a relieved smile as he raised his palms in a joking gesture of defense. "You get any sleep last night?"

"Eh, I nodded a little here and there."

Dave's face puzzled.

After a pause, Scoop raised his eyes to meet Dave's face and said, "Actually, I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh."

"I wanted to talk last night. That's kinda why I stayed up."

"Well," Dave paused long, "why didn't you say something last night?"

"Because I couldn't last night. Wasn't sure what I wanted to say. Or how I wanted to say it."

"So you stayed out here all night to talk to me _right now_?"

Scoop dropped his gaze from Dave's eyes. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Dave approached the center of the room and seated himself an overstuffed chair which faced perpendicular to the couch. He waited a moment before speaking. "Are you _okay_, Scoop?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." Scoop paused as well. "You're okay too. I want you to know that's how I feel."

Dave shook his head. "You're losing me, man. I really don't know what you're talking about or where this is going."

Scoop raised his eyes and addressed Dave. "You're my best friend. For almost three years now. Nothing's gonna change that. If you murdered someone, I'd help you get rid of the body."

Dave's eyes bulged as he rolled them and looked away. "Okay, now you're weirding me out."

"Calm down, man," Scoop spoke in a quiet tone. "You're my best friend, and I want you to know that _part of that_ is that anything and everything you do and anything and everything you are: it's all okay by me."

Dave sat quiet for a moment, dropping his gaze from Scoop's face to the space above the coffee table at the center before him. "I don't know where this is going," Dave lied quietly.

"Dave, we've roomed together for just about three years now. I already said that you're my best friend. I know I'm kind-of a crazy guy, and you're always the rational one that keeps me grounded. The rest of our crowd are all varying degrees of those things. I'm maybe not as crazy as Jack and Buke are, but you're definitely the sanest one of the bunch. People have come and gone from our crowd, but you and I have been pretty inseparable for the past couple of years. You've put up with me dragging you to every crazy-ass bar when I get head-over-heels for some chick, and you did it again last night. I just want you to know that I'm totally appreciative about that."

Dave's face lightened to a small, relieved smile. "You don't hafta thank me. Like you said, we're best friends. Friends do that kinda stuff for each other."

Scoop smiled and shook his head. "That's not what I'm getting at. I guess what I'm getting at is, when does it start for you? I mean, I've seen you talk with girls. All kinds of girls. Cute ones, nice ones, drop-dead fucking hot-chicks. Never seems to go beyond friendly conversations and stuff."

Dave's expression became serious, heavy, a weight that pulled his gaze toward the floor.

"I'm not confronting or accusing you of anything because nothing here is wrong." Scoop's tone of voice was firm but not harsh, purposeful but quiet, approachable, comfortable. "I said before, what you do and what you are, all that is okay by me."

Dave's eyes rolled from side-to-side as he blinked a few times quickly but remained silent.

"That guy you were hanging with a couple of months ago," Scoop recalled, "the one who hung out with us a few times?"

"You mean _Mark_?" Dave spoke, gravelly and quiet, just louder than a whisper.

"Yeah, Mark. You were dating him, right?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. Didn't work out." His voice was low, almost defeated-sounding.

"Dave, man, unless you're really busted-up about this _Mark_ guy or something, you don't need to sound so, um, _down _on yourself," Scoop said, nearly pleading. "You're still my best friend, man. Me knowing that changes nothing. It's not like I busted you for doing something wrong. There's no shame in who you are, Dave."

Dave exhaled, nearly a laugh as his mouth almost smiled. He reached upward to his face, brushing his fingers against the corner of his right eye. The room was silent until Dave spoke again, quiet but jarring against the silence. "Thanks."

"Aw, man," Scoop spoke loudly, almost a whine as he stood and approached Dave who remained seated. "Stand up, Dave?"

Dave slowly stood, a stuttering movement. Scoop reached his arms around Dave, pulling him in. Dave's arms responded in the like as he rested his forehead on Scoop's shoulder.

"How do you think the other guys are gonna take this when they find out?" Dave voiced, thick and breathy.

"I think they're gonna be just fine with it, man," Scoop spoke more loudly this time as he patted Dave more roughly on his shoulders. "And if they _do_ have a problem with it, they can fuck off for all I care."

Dave laughed in response to Scoop's suggestion as the two young men unlocked and seated themselves again, Dave in the chair and Scoop in the edge of the couch, this time physically closer to Dave.

Dave sniffed audibly as he smiled, almost giddily to himself. "So, like, how long have you known?"

Scoop shook his head. "I really don't know, but it all kinda clicked last night. There we were at that crazy bar. It was cool, but it wasn't really my kinda place or your kinda place. Nathalie had blown me off: no shocker there. I was trying for damage-control, talking shop with some of those other music-scene guys at the bar, looking for another gal to talk to when I saw that you'd struck up a conversation with that guy who was sitting next to you, the one with the glasses and the red beard. Seemed like you were having a good time talking to the guy, so I just kept on what I was doing. Next time I looked around, I noticed that you were no longer sitting at the bar, but you and redbeard had migrated to a booth at the far corner of the room, still smiling and kinda laughing. I'd never seen that particular kinda smile on your face before. I guess it was then I just kinda figured it out."

Dave chuckled and smiled again, facing forward toward the coffee table.

"That! _That's_ the smile right there!" Scoop spoke, pointing, playfully accusing.

Dave faced him, a full-on laugh this time accompanied by a blush. Scoop reached out and patted Dave's shoulder.

"I got an important question now," Scoop addressed Dave directly, an almost arrogant expression.

"Oh yeah?" Dave's expression was nearly cocky as well. "What's that?"

"Are you gonna see redbeard again?"

Dave faced downward for a moment, chuckling, before craning his head upward again to face Scoop straight-on.

"His name is John, he's got my number, and we're meeting for coffee this afternoon."

Scoop's face widened into an uncontrollable, toothy grin. "Go, _Dave_."


	2. They Are My Ramen

**Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.**

**The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.**

**Thank you.**

**The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series _Glee_.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 8,000**

* * *

"Hey," John dragged the word out, slightly labored-sounding into his still-buzzing phone while shutting his laptop. He'd had an episode of _Supernatural_ running in the background, but he was feeling the pressure of time and he found the distraction of the show uncharacteristically bothersome at the current moment. "What's up, Mandy?"

"Hey John!" Mandy greeted typically bright. "We still on for Tuesday night? Free the Oods?"

John raised an eyebrow, preoccupied. "Course. Wouldn't miss it."

"Beat Nate!"

"That's our mantra. That's my girl."

"You sound less than convinced, John."

"Maybe I'm not exactly in Whovian fanboy mode at the moment."

"You feeling okay over there?" Mandy sounded exaggerated mock-concern.

John snickered. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just getting ready to go out for coffee, or an Italian soda, more appropriately, after I have breakfast here."

"Where're you going?"

"Stumptown near PNCA. Is Mack working?"

"He has Sundays off. Want me to meet you?"

"Uh, no," John was abrupt. "Meeting a guy."

"Ooh! A date?"

John snickered again. "Yeah, that's what you call it, I guess. Guy I met at Tardis Bar last night."

"Oh, a _second_ date?"

"Uh, naw, just, like, _unfinished business_."

"Oh." Now Mandy was abrupt. "You didn't score last night so you're going for it this afternoon?"

"That's the idea."

"So, tell me about this," Mandy hesitated before she spat, "_conquest_."

"Not important."

"Oh, come on, John, I tell you about the guys I'm interested in."

"Um, you _volunteer_ the information," John spoke sassy as he rifled through a laundry basket of dark-colored garments. "I don't recall ever asking for those details."

"You don't cover your ears and do the _'nananana, I can't hear you'_ thing either." Mandy was having none of this evasiveness. "Spill, John."

"Alright," John surrendered begrudgingly. "He's young. I'm not sure how old he is, but he seems young. He's really handsome but with this boyish cuteness about him. He's kind-of a big fella but he looks like he's solid muscle, and not in a flexi-poser kinda way." John paused for a moment, and the confrontational attitude disappeared from his tone. "He's laid-back and low-key. Humble, even. And his smile is gorgeous."

"Does he have a name?"

"His name's Dave." It sounded almost as if it sighed from John's mouth wrapped in a swoon, and with that, John sounded absolutely defeated.

John could detect Mandy suppressing a laugh.

"_What?"_ his attitude returned.

"You're smitten."

"Yeah, and that's why I gotta do this now before he realizes how far outta my league he is and starts getting particular about who he fools around with."

Mandy made a snapping sound. "Maybe, just _maybe_, there's a basis for more. Like a potential boyfriend or something?"

"Mandy, the guy's a catch, and I am most definitely _not_ relationship material."

"Oh, when's the last time you even _tried_?"

"Can't remember, but I remember enough to know that I'm a fuckup where that's concerned. Besides, he's hot, and I'm brown-eyed, balding, pasty-skinned, and overweight; and, at twenty-eight years old, I'm three-to-five years outside of complete trolldom as opposed to the troll-in-training I am right now."

"Y'know, you're adorable," Mandy nearly scolded. "Infuriating but adorable. Plus, you probably have no clue what this guy wants."

"Like I said, once he realizes the potential of guys that want him, he won't even look at a guy like me, so I gotta act now."

Mandy paused to let out an exasperated-sounding breath. "So, what are you wearing?"

"Uh, cargo pants, dark gray t-shirt, long-sleeved button-down over that. Gotta hide those pasty, untoned arms."

"Okay, I better go before I end up saying 'fuck you' or something like that."

"That's fine," John droned. "I was gonna wake Gene up and do chocolate-chip waffles for breakfast."

"And I'm sure I'm not gonna be irked at you forever, I mean, we need to at least have our game on for Tuesday night. And maybe Wednesday night we can get together and you can tell me how things went with this guy today."

"Uh, yeah. There will probably be nothing to tell, but if you want to split an order of Chinese, I'll tell you anything your gay-fetishizing mind wants to hear."

"Sicko."

"You wouldn't have me any other way," John spoke smugly. "Bye, Mandy."

"Later, John."

The call ended, and John's attitude dropped with it. He needed to adjust his demeanor: put the friendly and accommodating faces forward and bury the more overtly predatory instincts behind them. The truth was that Dave made an impression on him beyond the mere superficial, but he couldn't allow his more imaginative thoughts to control his conduct: this was self-preservation and a reality-check as much as it was the desire to get laid; and the previous night's embellished fantasies were reduced to more attainable short-term goals in the next day's light of reason. Or at least that's what John was trying to convince himself.

* * *

"_Rolling Rock?"_

"_Yeah, they used to drink it out east. I'm a transplant. Northwestern Ohio. A backward little place called Lima."_

_"I feel your pain. I'm a former Buckeye too- Toledo, though. Where in the hell is Lima?"_

Dave mentally recounted the previous night's conversation as the streetcar approached Stumptown Coffeehouse. He knew he'd be early, a good fifteen or twenty minutes before their agreed-upon meeting time, but he was feeling good, nearly buoyant, and that was likely an unexpected consequence of the previous night's dialogue as well as the morning's exchange with Scoop: a friendly chance-encounter and the reassuring words of his best friend left Dave feeling liberated on a personal level.

"_Shit, Toledo is a freaking metropolis next to Lima. I'm Dave, by the way. What's that you're drinking?"_

_"A metropolis? You poor bastard. John. Nice to meet you. Oh, I'm having a screwdriver since it's the new guy on duty. Usually, I'd have a Rolling Rock but I'm testing his drink-making skill. I'm personally glad Rolling Rock started getting popular up in Seattle or it'd never made it's way down here. This your first time at the Tardis bar? You a fan of Doctor Who or are you just being a tourist?"_

_"I'm not. I don't really get the show, but it's nice to meet you. I'm here with my roommate. He's trynna score with some chick that hangs here."_

_John leaned back on his barstool, just far enough to take in the the crowd assembled to Dave's right. "Let me guess. He's the kinda thin-built, dark-haired, obnoxious one."_

_Dave audibly suppressed a laugh, grinning forward toward the bar. "Hey, his obnoxiousness is part of his charm. But, yeah, that's him."_

"_Well, your roommate is outta luck. He's gonna strike out with her."_

"_Would be far from the first time," Dave grinned wide, another stifled chuckle. "Keep makin' me laugh while I have beer in my mouth, I'm gonna end up choking and spewing all over the bar."_

_"Ha! Careful now, I've been known to accept challenges like that. I knew this frat-boy once that- never mind."_

_"Oh, listen to you: talking smack about frat-boys to a former jock," Dave said with a chuckle and a little bit of tongue to show he was joking. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure that Portland is exactly screaming for a bar devoted to a TV show from England that's never gonna have anything more than a lunatic-fringe following over here."_

_"I take offense to that, good sir! We're not lunatics...we're just...pass...okay, _I _can't even say that with a straight face. We're pretty damn crazy, you're right. You should shout out something like, 'Martha Jones is my favorite companion,' and see what happens."_

_"_I'll_ pass on _that_. You come here a lot?" Dave asked._

_"Nah, the bar thing's not really my scene, though I do love the decor. There's never really any guys here worth hitting on and the ones that do want to talk to me...well, they've only got one thing on their mind. That's what happens when you're a rare ginger cub in the wilderness, I guess." John's voice trailed to a chuckle._

_Dave, turned his head, expression piqued, a slightly-raised eyebrow and slightly-confused hint of a smile. A silence before speaking, quiet, scratchy. "Are you flirting with me?"_

_John's expression shifted to friendly alarm, holding up his hands. "Wasn't I supposed to? Oh, super. You're straight. And _again_ I hit on the straight guy. Sorry, we can start over if you want or you can just walk away and we'll pretend this never happened."_

_Dave turned forward to face the bar, grinning to himself, nearly chuckling. "No, it's okay. I just...don't usually get hit on."_

_Dave swore he could hear the man at his left grin in response; he could detect it in the periphery of his vision. Dave grinned as well and turned his head to his left to see John blushing and smiling, staring into the bar, confirming his hunch._

John's smile was disarming and natural, something different from the sarcastic, aloof expressions of most of the gay men he'd known. Dave felt that he could become accustomed to seeing regularly. And often. And it seemed easy enough to make him smile, and his own facial reaction to it must have been the smile that Scoop was talking about.

"_Yeah, I was a Cub Scout too. It was a pretty great experience for a while. Then, ah, I don't know. I'd tell myself I outgrew it, but that's not really it. I'd tell myself I just couldn't be bothered with that kinda do-gooder stuff, that I wanted to be some jock badass when I was in high school. The truth is, though, I knew they wouldn't want me. Until fairly recently, the Boy Scouts of America were pretty clear about the stuff that they consider to be immoral and subhuman."_

_Damn, that was a lot of information_, Dave thought to himself, _and how did the conversation even get there? And why did I volunteer _that_, of all things? _Well, at least John wasn't freaked-out by it. Or afraid of it. And within a few more sentences, the smiles returned to both faces, and a few short sentences after that found the two of them moving from the bar to that booth in the far corner.

Dave didn't spend a great amount of time stressing over what he'd wear; his wardrobe boiled down to two options: dressy and casual. This was a Sunday afternoon coffee-date: casual. Despite it being mid-February, the weather was pleasant, springlike actually: a warm and sunny respite after eight-straight days of overcast skies and rain; he wore a short-sleeved button-down (white with wide blue vertical stripes) and jeans with a casual jacket on top (he'd significantly thinned the polo shirts from his wardrobe on the unsolicited advice from one of his acquaintances back in Lima: "The polo shirts are a mixed bag; sometimes they're fine and sometimes they make you look shapeless like a sack of potatoes."). Dave rarely stressed over what he was wearing; his self-esteem where relationships were concerned was another matter, but one which he pushed to a far corner of his mind as he drew nearer the meeting place.

Upon his entry into the coffeehouse, sixteen minutes before their designated meeting-time, Dave was somewhat surprised to see John at an isolated table at the farthest corner of the space, book opened in front of himself and reading. Dave's approach was self-consciously measured, so as to avoid startling the reader.

"Hey."

John lurched in Dave's direction without shifting his vision, a small smirk at the corners of his mouth. "Hey Mack, I told you I'm waiting for," then he looked up, the smirk dragging and falling. "Sorry Dave, I didn't expect you to be early."

Dave chuckled loudly, disarmed by John's friendly greeting and unconsciously dismissible remark. "What are you talking about? You're here before I was."

"Caught. Mack's one of the baristas and one of my old pals from my first film class way back when. I have a habit of stopping by to shoot the shit with him. Come, sit. Stay awhile."

"No biggie. At least I'm not gonna get bored sitting here waiting fifteen minutes before you showed up." Dave looked at the table and noticed a beverage on the table. "Italian soda in a coffee joint?"

"Hey, I used to suck these down in college all the freakin' time during midterms. They are my ramen."

"I'm gonna go get coffee and something to munch on. You want anything?"

"Actually, I fixed my roommate and me waffles a little while ago, not that hungry."

"You sure? I'm buying."

John thought for a moment, twisting his lips. "Fine, if you have to twist my arm, they get cookie and cream macaroons from a great bakery up north. If you have to get me something, they're worth the investment," he pronounced with an affected, good-natured sarcasm.

Dave grinned crooked and nodded. "You got it. Be back in a few. Need a refill on your Italian soda while I'm there?"

"Nah, I'm good for now," John smiled and blushed, looking away from Dave's wise-ass grin, busying himself closing his book and trying to hide his blush. He tried not to look at Dave while Dave was at the counter, chatting with Mack. Mack said something funny, Dave letting out a short bark of a laugh. John bit down his lip. Dave was the first guy he'd wanted to talk to, _really_ talk to, since...god, since _Bernard_, but his mind pulled back: he was very conscious of how far he wanted it to go. He tapped his fingers on the top of the book, the produced sound designed to dispell any delusions beyond the primal ones at hand.

Dave returned soon enough with a tray which was holding his coffee and two small paper plates: one contained an equal quantity of two different types of macaroons while the other held two salt-sticks.

"What did Mack convince you to order?"

"Well, there're the cookies 'n' cream macaroons you asked for and then these caramel-covered ones. They looked too good to pass up. And salt sticks. I like salty with my sweet."

"Ah. Can't say I've ever had the salted caramel sticks. I think those are actually one of Mack's attempts at haute cuisine. Well, at least I won't feel bad for having a sweet tooth around you. John nodded understanding if not outright approval with a grin, waiting for Dave to seat himself, something Dave didn't do immediately. Dave instead took the plates and beverage-cup from the tray and placed them on the table, taking the tray to the nearest tray-station.

"No sense in cluttering up the table with the tray, right?" Dave said upon his return, seating himself opposite John, and placing a stack of paper napkins at the center of the table. He reached for a macaroon, and John followed.

"Hey, these are awesome," Dave assessed, after biting half of the spongy cookie.

"I know, _right!_ I was super-skeptical about them because I just thought they were kind of the new cupcake fad, but they brought them to the volunteers at the Fire and Ice Gala last year, and they just blew my mind. I've been, what's the word, _convinced_, I think," John added.

Dave shook his head after swallowing a gulp of coffee. "I guess I wouldn't know. It's been ages since I've gone out for coffee like this. Just usually that endless cycle of school, working out, studying, hanging out with the guys, and hitting the bars on the weekends."

John nodded. "Good lord, you're a busy guy. You go to PSU or do you take the bus out to Lewis and Clark? I'm sorry, I'm nosey. You don't have to tell me, it's cool. I get pretty busy too, actually, between film school, editing stuff outside of class, volunteering, and all kinds of stuff at church, I feel like I get about ten hours a week to myself, no lie."

"PSU. No offense taken at your nosiness. Film editing? That's cool. You'd mentioned yesterday that you'd done some film work."

"Yeah, I guess it's been a couple of years since the documentary and the start of my work with the film festival stuff. Kinda got my foot in the door and I guess I've just been at it ever since. I get really absorbed in my projects, my roommate's always having to lure me home with promise of pasta alfredo and I still end up working on the projects in my sleep," John chuckled.

Dave stifled a laugh, but it was one without mirth, feigning an intrigued expression despite lacking any genuine interest. "Doesn't sound like a good time, exactly."

"Oh, it's horrible but the rewards are also, I mean, I get to preview stuff at film festivals for free, I get showings at the old Hollywood theater, and I get to go all around Portland with a camera in my hand. It's great. I think, for me, though, animation's the direction. Not like the CGI stuff but old claymation-style vignettes. Oh Lord, listen to me. Going on and on, pretty soon I'll have my phone out, showing you videos- I'm sorry."

Dave nodded, trying to mask his disinterest, considering the book on the table which John had been reading.

_Mysteries of Pittsburgh _by Michael Chabon.

"So doing all this," Dave said as he leaned into the table slightly, "when do you find time to read?"

"I guess I make time for it. I get a lot of inspiration from books and, I don't know, I just've always loved words. It's a thing for me, a part of my nerdy charm, I guess. Is there any particular authors' stuff you like?"

"Ah, well, I _like_ to read, but most of the actual reading I've done lately is for school or news items or research, again, mostly for school." Dave shook his head. "I can't remember the last time I read something for pleasure or because something piqued my interest or just because I _wanted_ to or whatever you want to call it. Just don't seem to have the time for that right now."

John shrugged. "That's the beauty of doing upper-level independent study, I guess."

"Do you write as well?" Dave asked. "I mean, I'm assuming you've written stuff for the films you work on. Do you write things to be, like, _read_ also?"

John's face betrayed an uncertain expression for a moment. "I've done some writing, I guess, though nothing really worth talking about."

A span of slightly tense silence passed before Dave shifted the subject, sensing an uncomfortable area. "So, I had to twist your arm to eat macaroons. Did you have, like, twenty waffles or something?"

"Nah. I'm just not a big morning breakfast guy. I mean, some days I stay up for eighteen hours editing, so sometimes I don't even get my breakfast until about 2 in the afternoon. I guess my body's just kind-of adapted, and I was never a breakfast guy to begin with."

"I was up around nine."

"Nine is kind-of early I guess."

"I usually go for a morning run, but nine is kinda late for me to get up."

"I see," John said jokingly, his smile returning, "so you're a morning person. Do you hog the covers too?"

Dave laughed unsure-sounding, backing away from the table. "In order to hog covers, there would need to be someone from whom I am hogging them. If there's no second party, no hoggage occurs. Yeah, I'm kind-of a morning-person. Besides, my roommate wanted to talk and kinda ambushed me this morning."

"Ooh, that must have been fun. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's good," Dave spoke through a crooked smile, leaning forward again and reaching for another macaroon. "We've been roommates for almost three years and best friends for most of that time."

"He the macho-man from last night?"

"Yeah," Dave choked out through a chuckle, "that'd be Scoop."

"His name is 'Scoop'?" John asked, incredulous.

"Nickname," Dave deadpanned, face sober again. "His actual first name is Thaddeus."

John shook his head. "I didn't want to say anything about it, really, but he's sort of...goofy."

"Well, if _your_ parents named _you_ Thaddeus..."

"I mean, he just kind of looked like a giant string of spaghetti tryin' hard to hit on that poor girl."

"Oh, c'mon, don't be rippin' on Scoop," Dave said through an irritated smile and a half-laugh, "He's my best friend."

"Lord, almighty, and at the Tardis bar, nonetheless."

"You treat it like it's some sacred ground or something," Dave spoke low and direct, shaking his head slightly. "And , I've been meaning to ask," he continued with no less attitude, "is it the Tardis Bar or is it the Fish and Chip Shoppe, because when I put it in my GPS..."

John nodded. "Oh yeah, it's officially the Fish and Chip Shoppe, but everybody calls it the Tardis Bar. I like it a lot better than the gay bars in town, they all get too crowded for my taste. Wall to wall gliteratzi, can't do it. Don't wanna do it."

Dave lowered his voice, looking around. "Damn, you're, um, _loud_."

"Well," John said with a questioning glance, "you _do_ know we're on a _coffee date_, right?"

"No, I know," Dave said moving back, "I'm just-"

"Please tell me you're out. I don't need to transition another straight guy out of the closet."

"No, no. It's not that. I'm just- I feel like a lot of gay guys make it their whole thing and there's so much more to life than that."

John nodded. "I agree. But," John shrugged, "I mean, half the guys in Portland think they're bi just because they get a little horny every now and then and the girlfriend doesn't work for them. And then they think they want to experiment Can't tell you how many coffee dates have been some sort of ambush like that. Not that this one was."

_"Flattering,"_ Dave rasped, almost under his breath, unamused and making no secret of it as he rolled his eyes to the side, an almost irritated expression.

John sighed, mentally deciding to play the sympathy card. "Sorry. Word vomit. What I meant was is that I showed up because I think you're a little different than the other guys I've met in Portland. I kind of suck at this, and I had a really good time with you. I don't want to screw up whatever happens after this." _Damn, that was off-script_, John prodded himself.

"Just to be clear on a couple of things, I can't see how I look to the rest of the world. Look at me, John." John raised his head and met Dave's eyes straight-on. Dave's expression was intense, and John was stunned by the shift in Dave's demeanor. "Just hear me out. I had a really hard time where I came from. That's why I had to get out of Ohio. I had some people that I trusted turn their backs on me. It was hard for me to find people that I could count on for any kind of support-system. Some people within the gay community rejected me. Being gay made me an outcast to a lot of my friends, and, on the other side, I just wasn't gay enough for some people's taste. I don't want to come off like it was harder for me than it was for anyone else, I mean, I don't want to trivialize anyone's experience: that wouldn't be right. As it is, I'm alright with the person I am. I don't want somebody telling me that I'm listening to the wrong music or watching the wrong TV shows or that I just don't dress the part because this is me and this is how I'm comfortable. My best friends are still guys who like to hang out, drink beer, and go to football games. My best-girl-friend that every gay dude is supposed to have never arrived. Do you know how my roommate and best friend found out I'm gay?"

John remained silent but shook his head in a response to Dave's question.

"He asked me this morning after observing you and me at the bar last night. I'm not afraid of being seen on a date with a guy in public. I wouldn't be here right now if I was. I wouldn't say I'm in the closet; by the same token, I wouldn't say I feel that I need to make a public declaration. My friends are gonna know sooner or later, but maybe I don't see a reason to accelerate that process. Maybe some of them already know. Scoop had a hunch before his epiphany last night, and he cared enough to sit down and talk with me about it this morning. If all that makes me unsuitable for anything more than shooting the shit with you over coffee and cookies, I can live with that."

"I've offended you," John spoke softly, sounding deflated. "I am awful at this."

"Listen. You're not the only one who had a good time talking last night. You're different than most of the guys I've met in Portland also. And Portland's been a distinct improvement over Lima." Dave's face hinted at a warm smile as his tone softened. "I think you're doing okay. Hey, nothing's tying me to the chair."

"Well, we could do that, if you're into that sort of thing," John said, suddenly playful again, quirking a brow.

"Oh my God, it's too early for that," Dave huffed, almost fatigued-sounding, under his breath, uncharmed, a mirthless snicker.

"Then why are you laughing?"

Dave shook his head. "That was a laugh of exasperation." No trace of smile remained on Dave's face.

John smirked, embarrassed and red-faced. He'd gone off-script again, and it continued to bother him that he did. What bothered him further was that Dave was far more forthcoming than he'd foreseen, or maybe John wasn't prepared for this level of depth. Suddenly John found himself almost wishing that Dave was just some curious guy looking for a Sunday afternoon blowjob: it certainly would have suited John's agenda more comfortably. As it stood, John found himself in uncharted territory.

"So, what made this seem like a good idea last night?" Dave spoke after several seconds of uncomfortable silence.

"Not sure," John said, sounding somewhat garbled, propping his head on his fist as his elbow rested on the table, the stress of his knuckles on his jar distorting his words, his eyes staring vacant into the tabletop. "What made it seem like a good idea to you?"

"Like I said, I had a good time talking to you last night."

"Change the subject?"

"Please."

John exhaled loudly, it almost sounded like a pressure-valve relieving itself. "So, we've established that you and Scoop are best friends. Can I assume that your talk with him this morning didn't change that?"

"Actually, Scoop, the guy you were being pretty _merciless_ toward earlier, was great about it, and I feel really good about the talk we had this morning," Dave spoke through an unbreaking serious expression.

John smiled quickly in response. "And you're one of the mighty many PSU students. What are you going for?"

"Electrical Engineering. I'm in my third year. I'm waiting to hear back on some internships I looked into."

"So you're either a returning student or," John gasped in realization, "oh God, you're a kid."

"I'm twenty-one," Dave's tone nearly defensive, stand-offish.

John steeled his expression, almost seeming to brace himself. "Cue foot in mouth a second time then. You seem a lot older than that. Me being twenty-five won't bother you, will it?"

Dave shook his head, a skeptical expression, his eyes addressing John's. "Not at all. Look at it this way: if we were forty-one and forty-five, it wouldn't seem like much of a difference, right? Why should it now?"

John nodded and grinned, satisfied with Dave's logic. "Oh God, I hope I'm a lot better at this when I hit forty-eight. So, you're an Engineering student at PSU. Is that where you met Scoop?"

"Mmhmm," Dave's eyes narrowed as he caught the slip but didn't reveal that he had. "He's finishing his business degree. He also manages a local band."

"Him and about a thousand other people. What'd he name his band?"

"Omnivore, and it's not his band; he just manages them. They're better-known up in Seattle at the Chop Suey room."

John shook his head slowly, a quizzical expression. "I got nothing, sorry. I have a hard time keeping up with Portland's overwhelmingly diverse music scene."

"Old-school hard rock band," Dave answered John's confused expression. "They're really good. You should come see them with us next time they play."

"Now that they've been recommended to me, I probably will. Might want Scoop to tell them to rethink the band's name though, I mean, we're in the land of vegan doughnuts."

Dave shrugged indifference. "There will always be meat-eaters, if only in the musical sense. Omnivore have a decent local following and dates lined up in Germany over the summer."

"That's kind-of awesome."

"Besides, like I said, it's really not Scoop's band to rename."

"I guess this is the point in the conversation in which I horrifically wonder if I've accidentally offended a vegan," John stated tentatively.

"Surely you jest," Dave sassed through his wise-ass grin. "Look at me. Do I look like I subsist on bird and rabbit food?"

John smiled and blushed, facing away for a moment. "Well, thank God for another bear. I can't date someone who doesn't consider hamburgers and bacon to be two of the major food groups."

Dave raised an eyebrow, nodding. "I can relate. If given the choice, I'd rather eat a really killer burger than a steak."

John's eyes narrowed and his grin widened on the statement. He visually traced Dave's shoulders and upper arms and back up to his neck. Then John's eyes met Dave's, and Dave's smile was smug and huge, and this was possibly not John's most tactful moment of the day as he realized he'd been busted. Face flushed red and grinning sheepishly, John faced downward.

"I...ummm...you've got nice neck muscles?" John eventually spoke, still avoiding Dave's grinning face. "Yeah, I'm not really gonna recover from that. You been a runner long, or was it just something you did to fill the gaps in school between sports?"

"I played sports in high school," Dave answered. "Football, hockey. I still play games with the guys, sometimes basketball. Hit the weight room a few times a week."

"Ha! Well God, I'm pretty solid at racquetball- that's about as close to a weight room as I've gotten in a long while. And then there's bowling, which is well, kind of athletic if you don't get cheese fries?" John offered.

"I bowled in a junior league when I was younger, only my big concession-bar weakness was nachos," Dave mentioned, enthusiastic. "I was actually pretty good. It's been a few years, but I'm sure I could still be formidable. I never played racquetball, but I'd be willing to give it a shot."

"Well, it'd be good not to have to beg around for a partner. So, are you living in the city or are you commutin' in from one of the 'burbs? Guessing..." John squinted his eyes, mimicking clairvoyance, "Beaverton!"

"Yeah, actually, right on the edge," Dave confirmed with a brief guffaw. "I have a car but it's easier to park it and take the red Max to get here. Eliminates the parking hassles. Where are you located?"

"I'm at the lofts downtown. The Lotus."

"Gotcha," Dave said as he stretched his arms, glancing at this wristwatch as part of the same action.

"Time to go?"

Dave grimaced a half-smile, shaking his head. "Nah, not any time soon, really. I just have dinner plans with Scoop and my weekly phone call with my dad. He calls me every Sunday night. I usually try not to stay out too late on Sunday nights anyway. I like to get my school stuff in order and get my brain going in preparation for the week."

"You have to make dinner plans with your roommate? That's kind of adorable, not gonna lie."

Dave smiled, open-mouthed, creased forehead, a near double-take: the mixture of signals being thrown at him was interesting, if only in an analytical sense. "It's a nice day," he said as he looked around, nodding toward the plate-glass storefront. "Scoop's gonna fire-up the grill. We have a deck on our apartment, and he fancies himself a barbecue genius. And he kinda is."

John chuckled. "Like Brainiac-style genius or just really good with a spatula?"

"You're just gonna hafta come over for dinner sometime and find out," Dave grinned cocky and noncommittal before continuing, "But, not today. I wouldn't spring a dinner guest on him with no notice."

"That's okay. I'm pretty sure that he'd have a meltdown if I just all-of-a-sudden showed up after him seein' us in a booth together."

"Gotcha. Completely understandable."

"Well, at least I didn't have to be the one to look at my watch."

"What's in your immediate future for this fine, mild afternoon?"

John chuckled again. "Dark room, actually. Into the hole of editing. Have a friend who wanted me to look over the work she was submitting to a women's film fest in Montana. Then there are meetings for a retrospective and I don't even know. There's one fun thing tonight and I don't want to bore you with details about my craptastically full schedule."

Both sat silent for a brief time, eyeing the empty paper plates and crumpled napkins collected together in a stack at the table's center, John biting down on his lip.

"We gonna do this again?" It was difficult to tell if Dave was asking or telling.

"Yeah, definitely," John responded, almost abruptly.

Dave nodded, a small-but-smug grin: cocky. "Good. Only one thing, though."

"What's that?" John asked, raising his gaze to meet Dave's eyes as Dave stood from the table and scooped up the empty paper plates and napkins.

"You're not really twenty-five. You're twenty-eight. You slipped-up before."

John's eyes dropped, and his mouth gaped: busted again.

"Call me sometime," Dave spoke as stepped from the table carrying the refuse to one of the trash cans.

* * *

"Scoop?" Dave called out as he let himself into his apartment; the sun was nearing the horizon, coloring golden the nearly-barren white walls. "You around?"

"Hey, Dave," Scoop's voice shouted from a distance, "Kitchen."

A moment later, Dave appeared in the entryway to the kitchen. Scoop was busying himself in preparation for dinner that evening. A few of the other guys were going to stop by, and Scoop was preparing ribs and some vegetables for the grill.

"How'd everything go?" Scoop asked loudly, not looking up from his cutting board but seeing Dave in his periphery.

"It was okay. Kinda odd, I guess. Not sure what I expected, actually." Dave shrugged before his voice perked, a changed tone, "Hey, Scoop?"

"Yeah?" Scoop looked up from his chopping, a piqued, interested expression.

"Thanks for this morning. I don't know if you realize how important that talk was to me."

Scoop exhaled and smiled, small but pleasant, reaching into the sink and rinsing his hands. "Listen, Dave. We're friends. I wanna see you happy, and I wanna see you happy for real. I'd never be able to see you that happy if there was something you were trying to keep hidden." Scoop reached for a towel, drying his hands.

"Well, it feels good to know that that barrier is gone," Dave spoke quietly but firmly. "It's good to know that I don't feel that I need to keep anything like that hidden. I'm kinda kicking myself for not telling you first, though."

Scoop chuckled. "Hey, what's important is that it happened and everything's good. Honestly, if you'd told me when we were first dorm-mates, I don't know how I would have reacted, not knowing you and being just out of high-school; but it's pretty-much a nonissue at this point. A couple of years of growing up and understanding the people around me, yeah, it was the right time. Probably would have been the right time a year-and-a-half ago, but maybe neither one of us would have been comfortable talking about it."

"Well, you were the one to initiate it, and I'm glad you did," Dave said, nodding. "I think maybe I'm ready to tell the other guys pretty soon. I know now, worst-case scenario, I'm not gonna end up friendless."

Scoop stepped toward Dave who was leaning against the wall. Scoop addressed Dave's face and patted his shoulder firmly. "Damned right." Dave chuckled as if reacting to being tickled by the action. "So, tell me more about John," Scoop continued.

Dave rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Um, we laughed a little, it was awkward, it got kinda intense. He's unpretentious, but he's not exactly laid-back." Dave paused for a moment. "I'd hang with him again, I guess."

"What else?" Scoop prodded, smiling.

"Uh, he's artsy, but he's not that fake-artsy like so many other gay guys are. He actually does stuff rather than just talking about doing stuff."

"Like...?"

"Um, artsy endeavors," Dave recounted. "Documentary filmmaker, old-school animation, he writes: that kinda stuff."

"Can I say something?" Scoop offered.

"Sure. Shoot."

"Comparing him to that Mark guy you were seeing a while back and some of the other guys you've hung around short-term in the past, you and John looked comfortable together the other night. I can't say that about those other guys."

Dave looked downward, nodding. "Yeah, well, I busted him lying about his age, something he really didn't need to do."

"What?" Scoop nearly choked on the word.

"Yeah, and I can't take it too seriously."

"That's kinda fucked-up, though."

Dave laughed. "Non-issue. Scoop, I'm twenty-one. I'm not gonna be marrying anyone any time soon. Besides, how long have I been not-exactly honest with you about my orientation?"

"Not the same thing," Scoop countered, shaking his head and facing forward.

"Well, everyone like me grew up under the assumption that we're straight. It's difficult to break patterns when we think the truth might be counter to one's expectations, and it tends to apply to other things as well."

"Well, I can't see that perspective like you can. Did you lie to him about yourself also?"

Dave suppressed a breathy chuckle. "No, but it's probably not the first time someone has misrepresented themselves in a dating situation, I mean, I should probably get used to that, right? Also, unlike most other guys I've gone out with, he actually seemed to be interested in what I was saying and paid attention to me when I talked. And actually _wanted_ me to talk."

"But you're not really considering _seeing_ this guy again, are you?"

Dave began to laugh at Scoop's over-reaction and the unspecified nature of the situation. "That's going to be up to him. If he can bring himself to call me again and ask me out after a jerky move like that age thing, I might take him up on it. After all, it would be kinda gutsy. And he didn't give me his phone number anyway."

"You don't seem busted-up about that," Scoop voiced an observation as he returned his attention to the cutting board.

Dave laughed heartily. "Listen, Scoop, the high point of my day so far was the conversation you and I had this morning. Dinner might eclipse that. Yeah, I was kinda psyched about meeting this guy for coffee, but it wasn't, like, fireworks or anything. Even if it didn't live up to any best-case expectations, I've had worse dates, believe me. If nothing else, he's down-to-earth enough for me to carry on a conversation with, and some of it was awkwardly amusing in retrospect. Frankly, until I busted him lying about his age, the conversation was pretty uninteresting."

"Good attitude," Scoop opined. "Wish some of that would rub off on me for those times when I've entertained whack-job-chicks."

Dave chuckled again. "Well, he wasn't quiet to the point of creepy like some guys I've gone out with, and, truth told, his obvious verbal slips gave me some leverage when I called him on it, like I wasn't gonna let him talk down to me like so many guys do; and he's not totally uninteresting."

"If you can believe what he says about himself, that is," Scoop snorted. "It's cool that you called him on it."

"You know me: I wasn't gonna let him get away with that," Dave spoke through a cocky smirk. "Plus the guy's willing to lie to me about himself. Must want something if he's willing to be unethical that way."

"You have a point there," Scoop muttered, a disapproving air, "Maybe he just wanted to get laid."

"That thought had occurred to me, and it's not a completely unappealing one."

Scoop appeared momentarily stunned before shaking his head and smirking down toward the cutting board.

* * *

John sighed as he cut through the dog park on his roundabout way to the editing studio. He couldn't stop thinking about how much of a fiasco the coffee-date turned out to be, envisioning what future dates with Dave might have been if he hadn't shot that one in the ass, and then mentally scolding himself: _why must you keep going off-script into relationship territory when you_ know _it's not going to happen, _especially_ with this guy?_ He sat on a bench and watched three golden retrievers being chased playfully by their owners. Soon, the frisbees would be out, it was getting warmer and lighter all the time.

John looked up at the mostly blue sky. _What am I doing? I don't want to like this guy like this, but I do, so much so that I completely lost control of that conversation and my focus. _

John's phone buzzed and he looked from the sky to his phone at Louis' name on the text screen.

Louis: _Hey John! Meeting Tuesday! It's nice that you have a phone now so I can tell you these things without having to track you down._

John: _True. Ah, is this that meeting for Lenten stuff or ...?_

Louis: _Six of one, half a dozen of another. _

John: _Ah. Sorry I couldn't make this morning. I was..._

John started to type _busy_ and then erased it. It didn't sound right to say that he had bounced on morning service at church for a date. A date during which he shot himself in the ass more than once.

Louis: _You were..._

Louis: _Oh! It's like a guessing game!_

John: _Not exactly_

John: _There was this guy_

Louis: _Awesome! Way to go!_

John: _Don't get excited. I'm my own worst enemy, and I don't want to talk about it._

Louis: _Awww...why?_

Louis: _Also, don't think that about yourself._

John: _Can't argue with the evidence before me._

John: _I didn't even give him my phone number, and he probably doesn't want it anyway._

Louis: _Well, does he want to meet again?_

John: _Said he would. You know how that goes._

John: _It hasn't even been a year since my last disastrous relationship._

Louis: _I know_

Louis: _And life is a healing process_

Louis: _And I certainly don't want to push you into anything_

Louis: _But if there's a green light sign, I'd say take the chance_

John: _Really doesn't apply in this situation._

Louis: _Why?_

John: _Not going there. But I'll think about it, the green-light and taking-the-chance thing, that is._

Louis: _Liar, but it's considerate of you to say_

Louis: _Maybe that's what you should have told him_

John: _Yeah, that totally doesn't make me feel like crap._

Louis: _Sarcasm or ...?_

John: _I don't even know anymore, and maybe you don't know me, and maybe I just don't know what I want either._


	3. Undefined

**Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.**

**The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.**

**Thank you.**

**The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series _Glee_.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 12,000**

* * *

"Hey, Dave."

"Scoop," Dave mumbled, low, as Scoop entered the kitchen of their apartment; Dave was facing downward toward the sink, washing dishes.

"There any of that pizza left from last night?"

"Yeah, I saved half of what was there for you," Dave's reply, though audible, remained low-pitched and quiet.

"Aw, you're the best," Scoop countered, affected sincerity but sincere nonetheless, as he opened the refrigerator and retrieved the grease-spotted box, opening it and reaching in, "Thanks." He placed the box on the counter and fought to wrest a slice of pizza free, mangling it slightly in the process; he lifted the twisted piece to his mouth and bit down, claiming a large bite as he watched Dave finish rinsing some dishes and silverware in the sink.

"How is it you put up with my sloppy ass for this long when you're a borderline neat-freak," Scoop forced, distorted through a mouthful of pizza.

"It's because I'm not one of those _belligerent_ neat-freaks," Dave answered, monotone. "And you're not, like, off-the-hook messy or anything. Besides, I _do_ have my unkempt moments."

"I've never seen one." No answer. "Grouchy."

"Trying not to be, and I'm not, like, in your face about it or anything."

Scoop nodded, chasing a mouthful of pizza with a gulp of soda. "What's eating you anyway?"

"Focusing on schoolwork," Dave replied. "Finals coming up. Have a paper to finish. Stuff like that."

"You talk to that guy since the weekend?"

"The whack-job? Nope."

Scoop silently made the connection. "Sounds like you're trying not to care when you might actually. Seriously, you shouldn't."

"There was something endearingly amusing about the whole thing, but, yeah, you're right, and there's no way for me get in contact with the guy. I need to concentrate on school for the time being anyway. The whack-jobs will still be there when finals are over."

"But you kinda liked him, _right_?"

Dave snickered, mood lightening. "Yeah: _'__liked'_. Keep it in past-tense." Dave's face became somewhat pointed as he addressed Scoop straight-on. "You know, before you and I had that talk last Sunday morning, I _had_ dated a few guys. It's not like I'm exactly naïve or new to this drill."

"You make it sound like every available gay dude is nuts," Scoop observed.

"Well, how many girls have you gone out with that you concluded are psycho on some level?"

"Touché," Scoop acknowledged, nodding and widening his eyes on agreement.

"Besides, There's a lot you don't know about where I came from and my life before I moved to Portland, the guy I was back in Ohio and the reasons why I had to get the fuck outta there. I might come off like the guy who's always in control just because I feel like I gotta be careful when I act on impulse."

"Y'know," Scoop pushed the words through another mouthful of pizza, "you seem pretty well-adjusted, way saner than so many of the _straight_ people our same age." Scoop swallowed followed by another swig of soda. "You're my best friend. I want to see you happy with a cool boyfriend or something."

"Why is it that straight society has two exclusive, polar views of dating as it concerns the gay community?"

"What?" The final consonant sound dulled by food and chewing action.

"The people who don't like us assume that all we want to do is go out and fuck anything that moves, and our friends assume that all we want to do is fall into immediate monogamous relationships and get married. Can't there be a middle-ground, especially for a guy my age? I mean, it's considered normal behavior if a young straight-guy wants to go out and get laid; it's just as normal if him and his girlfriend of three weeks decide to get married."

Scoop shook his head slightly, simultaneously chewing another mouthful of pizza, seeming to experience some confusion while processing the conversation. Finally swallowing, he said, "Dave, like I said, I want you to be happy."

"So, what? It doesn't make you happy when you get laid?"

Scoop shook his head. "Sure, but..."

"Scoop, you're not getting it," Dave spoke decisively. "You're holding me to some kind standard that you yourself don't observe. I've hooked up with guys that I can barely hold a conversation with, but that doesn't mean I didn't have an awesome time with them. Then, there's whack-John: I sorta got a kick out of actually talking to the guy, but that's as far as it's likely to go."

"Maybe he's one of those people who just does stuff on the weekends." Scoop swallowed followed by another swig of soda. "You met him last Saturday; you hung out with him on the following Sunday. It's Thursday. Maybe he's just one of those disorganized guys who plays things as they happen when his free time allows."

"Listen to you," Dave shook his head, smirking, "You didn't like the guy five minutes ago, and now you're making excuses for him."

"Forget it, but I have a hunch that you're gonna hear from him again," Scoop surrendered. "Otherwise, sorry, man. I'll try to keep my thoughts about things to which I'm clueless under control, but just know that you can talk to me about anything, okay?"

Dave laughed and shook his head facing back toward the sink. "Yeah, thanks for the offer, and I know I'll take you up on it at some point."

"I've bent your ear enough times, that's for damned sure. I owe you at least that."

Dave exhaled loudly as he rinsed the filter-basket and carafe from their coffee-maker, "Deal."

"You have anything going on early tomorrow?"

"Nah, first Friday class is at one."

"Well, the band is playing a Rickety-Thursday show tonight at the White Boxx, and you've been increasingly quiet all week, excepting the last ten minutes, of course. Might do you some good to come out and have some stupid fun with your friends."

Dave grinned, crooked. "That's actually a pretty good idea. I think it's been all of, what? Not quite two weeks since I've seen them last?" Sarcastic.

"Okay, so it's nothing new, but it is a distraction and you know it's always a good time."

"Alright. I'm in."

"It's amazing how much I have to twist your arm to get you to do things, Dave," Scoop said with a smug, self-congratulatory smirk as he shoved a sizable chunk of pizza crust into his mouth.

"You're an animal," Dave said, affected displeasure, as he turned back to the sink, wiping water droplets and scattered remnants of suds from the immediate counter-top area. "Can't you chew your food? Oh my _God_, I sound like my _mother_."

* * *

"We're doing shots," called Jack from the bar as Dave stood a small distance away, beer in hand, glancing toward the stage and a couple of guys who were hoisting some speaker cabs. "You in, Karofsky?"

"Nah, guys, I'm driving," Dave threw an answer over his shoulder. "Somebody's got to stay sober enough to drive Scoop's inevitably-trashed ass back home."

"And never let it be said that Scoop doesn't appreciate your unfailingly responsible nature," Scoop replied, referring to himself in the third person, as five sloppy shotglasses were thunked down onto the bar before the group of five young men.

The bar was noisy. "Sweet Jane" was playing on the jukebox: Dave couldn't remember ever coming to this bar and not hearing the song, though he'd never heard it before he frequented the place.

_Standin' on the corner  
__Suitcase in my hand  
__Jacky's in his corset, Jane is in her vest  
__And, me, I'm in a rock n roll band_

Dave heard a collective growl come from his friends as they slammed their spent shotglasses to the surface of the bar in near-military precision. Jack and Tony left the bar area, walking toward Dave, Jack loudly pronouncing the next two lines of the song.

_"All the poets, they study rules of verse,  
__And those ladies, they roll their eyes."_

"You've been staring at the stage solid for, like, ten minutes, Karofsky," Tony noted. "Something interesting going on up there?"

Dave shook his head, breaking away from the distracting vision of the members of one of the opening bands setting up their gear. "Uh, just looking at their, um, guitar rigs." The response sounded every bit as false as it was.

Tony shot Dave a skeptical expression. "Since when do you know, or even care, anything about guitar amplification?"

"This guy's rig is orange. I've never seen one like that."

Tony's brow creased as he turned toward the stage area. "You're _right_. I've never seen one of those in person. I'm gonna go talk to the guy about it."

Tony departed toward the stage area leaving Jack and Dave standing next to each other.

"So, Karofsky, you up for playing some basketball this weekend?" Jack asked over the sound of the jukebox.

Dave smiled and glanced toward Jack as Scoop and Robbie approached from the other side. "Sure, as long as the rain gives us a break. I remember playing basketball in the rain in February once before, and, I swear, my sinuses weren't right for a week."

Jack and Robbie began to laugh at Dave's observation as Dave's phone buzzed to life, his ringer creating a cacophony with the sound of the jukebox as Scoop sang along with Dave's phone briefly, nodding to the beat as he did: "Exit light, en-ter nieeeeeght!"

Dave smirked crooked and shook his head, considering the screen before taking the call: _Number not available_.

"Hello?" Dave raised his voice into the phone to assure being heard over the noise of the bar.

"Hey, Dave? Ummm...hi. You... you probably don't remember me. I'm... this is John. From _coffee_? And the _Tardis Bar_?"

"Hey, hi. Yeah, I, of course I remember. I didn't think I'd be hearing back from you."

Scoop glanced in Dave's direction, interested in the phone call, while the others remained distracted.

John's voice was hesitant and somewhat staticky. "Sounds like you're, um, _busy_?"

Dave moved from the crowded center of the space to a quieter corner near the front of the bar. "Just hanging at a bar with my friends. Their band is gonna play later tonight."

"Oh. Cool. Is this the one that Scoop manages or something? Did they rope you into being a roadie for tickets?"

"No," Dave grimaced, dismissing the comment. "Just hanging with my friends and waiting around for stuff to happen. Typical for one of these nights, actually."

"Ah. Well, speaking as an amateur roadie, I always kind of liked the flurry of activity before a performance. So, I was calling... umm, I was wondering, I know you're probably a busy dude but..."

_"Yeah?" _Dave's tone betrayed impatience at the intrusion.

"There's umm...they're having an artisan burger-off at Saturday market, and I know you said you like burgers, and I really think it would be cool, and it would get me out of the studio for like half a day, and I'm climbing the walls here so it would be really cool... oh _God_, I'm babbling. I'm sorry."

"No, definitely. I'm in," Dave replied, nominally committal if lacking enthusiasm.

"You... that's... _okay_. _Fantastic_. Ummm...so _yeah_, this is... this is me. Just call, you know, if you get lost or you just wanna hang out or... oh _God_, I'm just gonna hang up now," John said before ending his side of the call.

Dave looked at his phone as the call abruptly ended, quirked his brow, puzzled, and shook his head. _'Just call,' _Dave thought, _what kinda insanity is _that_, never having been given a number? _He moved from the secluded corner, rejoining his friends at the center of the room.

"That who I think it was?" Scoop asked, a sarcastic inflection to his voice and hint of suspicion to his expression.

Dave looked downward, a perplexed half-smirk and an unseen eyeroll in the half-light of the bar. "Yeah."

"Told ya." Scoop voiced, affected disinterest, as he shook his head, staring forward toward the stage.

"Yeah, how the hell did you call that one?"

"Experience, maybe?" Scoop offered.

Dave's expression puzzled as Scoop furthered. "Watching the two of you at that Tardis thing? Watching him _specifically_? It's like I could read his expression, I knew what he was thinking. He was just a little too awestruck to let it go after one goofy misfire date."

Dave nodded, considering the statement. "That's insightful coming from a straight dude."

"Hey, we're all _dudes_, right?" Scoop answered through an audible snicker. "I think I know the territory." Scoop paused. "Maybe I've been there before. A couple of times. News?"

Dave nodded and slid his phone into his jacket, indifference. "I _guess_. We're going out again this weekend."

Scoop's brow wrinkled as he tilted his head, smug, before addressing Dave. "Like you said, I called it."

"You're such an unlikely cupid," Dave offered, mirthless, still smirking slightly. "It might be downright nauseating if you weren't on my side."

* * *

John ended the call before he said, _I missed you_, or some equally embarrassing and trite, relieved as much that the conversation was over as he was that Dave had agreed to meet him Saturday afternoon.

John sat on a bench outside the church, his Thursday evening choir rehearsal having ended a half-hour before. He hadn't planned on calling Dave again, but his earlier conversation with Louis put a gentle persuasion to his indecisive thoughts, all-the-more susceptible to suggestion for their ambivalence.

"_Hey, John, wait up," Louis called out. Rehearsal had just finished, and John was hurriedly moving toward the exit door of the rehearsal space._

"_Um, hey, Louis," John spoke as he slowed slightly, feeling like he'd been busted doing something wrong._

"_Where're you off to so fast?"_

"_Uh, I wanted to get back to the editing room. I have this one little thing I wanted to finish before I headed home."_

_Louis' expression was patient. "No time to talk for a couple of minutes?"_

_John exhaled loudly, nodding and turning to face Louis. "Yeah," John shrugged. "I can hang for a few. What's up?" The expression sounded mechanical, like an automatic response, though he tried to make it sound conversational and friendly._

"_Did you talk to that guy you went out with on the weekend?"_

"_Nah."_

_The response seemed to extend into the air between them: Louis waiting for John to elaborate; John hoping the single-word-answer would suffice._

"_C'mon," Louis began after the pause, each man addressing the other's face, "It can't be as simple as that."_

"_Um, it is. I messed it up."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Um," John shook his head, breaking from Louis' s eyes, "I lied about my age, and he caught it."_

_Louis' expression twisted. "What? How old is this guy?"_

"_Twenty-one."_

"_And how old are you? Twenty-six?"_

"_I'm twenty-eight."_

"_And what'd you tell him? You're twenty-six?"_

"_Told him I was twenty-five."_

_Louis shook his head. "That's not like you at all. Why would you even do something like that?"_

_There was a span of silence before John answered. "Maybe it actually_ is_ kinda like me."_

"_What does that even mean?"_

"_Maybe I just wanted to get laid."_

_Louis' expression dropped, puzzlement to sober suddenly, but with an empathy in his eyes, before audibly inhaling and nodding. "We've all been there, and there's no shame in that. _But_, I don't think that's entirely truthful. Our text-conversation the other day sounded like you were a little more thoughtful than a guy who failed at getting laid would be."_

_John remained silent._

"_Y'know, maybe you've moved on from the bad experieinces of your last attempt at a relationship. Maybe you're ready. And he did say he was open to meeting again, right?"_

"_Yeah, and how many times have you said that and didn't mean it?"_

"_Never." Louis' quick and definitive response stunned John._

"_Well," John began almost shyly after a moment, "I have."_

_Louis' face was trained on John's; John eventually resigned to lifting his gaze to meet Louis' whose expression shifted from stoic to a hinted smile: quiet encouragement._

"_If you really have entertained more than a roll in the hay with this guy, which I suspect you have, and you're unsure of what you're looking for, it might be time for you to see where something like this might lead."_

"_So, you're telling me to give him a call and see if he's up for meeting again?"_

"_If you've thought about it, and I can tell you're thinking about it right now, the uncertainlty of not knowing the outcome is gonna bother you. Your choice."_

"_Y'know, I'll regret the whole thing if he turns me down."_

"_You'll regret not knowing just as much. Maybe more."_

* * *

John sat on the cement shell of the steps, watching the river as it moved and ignoring most of the thoroughfare. He swigged root beer out of a bottle and half-listened to a man play on acoustic guitar in the little town square between the vendors and the shell. It was still too early in the season for tourists, so the Market foot-traffic was relatively light at the moment though the crowd would grow within the hour. It was an ideal place and time for a second-and-a-half date.

* * *

Dave had driven his car to the park-n-ride to catch the streetcar to the Saturday market. He psyched himself on some level, pushing his misgivings of the awkward last meeting to the back of his mind and assuming a positive attitude for the day. As far as he was concerned, he'd take the mental stance that the coffee-date never happened, at least not in the way it actually did. This was as clean a slate as could be justifiable, and Dave approached it with no expectations or aganeda. He did, however, understand his own limitations. He wasn't always the most patient person, and, given John's track record, his patience had an undeniably low threshold despite Dave's efforts to the contrary.

* * *

John swallowed hard as he caught sight of Dave sauntering up the boardwalk toward the market. If it was at all possible, Dave appeared better than before: even hotter in the daylight than John thought anyone had a right to look, and with an approachable, friendly expression and gait.

As the distance between them diminished, John stood up, tense, and reached his hand outward to shake Dave's.

"Good to see you. You look, you look _good_. Ummm...the burger thing is really nice and it's all locals and yeah, okay, so hi."

"Hi," Dave said with a sidelong glance and a wary shake of his head. "So, I'm guessing you're nervous. You can chill. It's just me. I'm here. Let's eat."

"Yeah, burgers, red meat. Caveguy stuff. Good times," John said as he tried to breathe. They walked side by side, remarking on different vendor stalls as they passed them. The smoke and smell of burgers made them salivate, almost painful, as they stood in line for the burger-off.

"Really, that kind of smell should be illegal," John said off-hand, beginning to relax.

"They smell great," Dave said, "I'm tryin' not to drool. My roommate makes the best in the city but-"

"Oh, ho, don't you think you're settin' the bar kind of high?"

"For him, nah, oh. Menu," Dave pointed out and jogged out of line to pick up menus for himself and John. "Okay, well, menu is not the right word."

"_Promotional brochure_ is more like it," John said as he flipped the giant bookmark in his hand. "Let's see...wow. Well, at least there are choices. What are you thinking?"

"I don't know," Dave said with a shrug. "Anything called 'Mountain Man' kind of snags my attention, but I'm on the fence about a burger made out of bratwurst. That just sounds..."

"Experimental? Destined to fail?"

"Pointless."

"Ah. Well, I have had one of the Mama burgers so unless you like a lot of syrup stay away from them. In theory it's a good idea, but in practice she should just stick to chicken and waffle burgers, I think."

"Okay, well," Dave said as they came up to the makeshift counter, "how about we find out what you actually _like_?"

"No, I got this," John spoke as he approached the counter to place his order. "Let's see...we'll do the cowboy with the two star barbecue sauce, and don't be skimpy. Colby-jack, hold the tomato, and onion strings right? And bacon. Must have bacon. Good. Thanks."

Dave watched John point and command the counter help's attention, nominally polite; but Dave couldn't shake the feeling that the exchange smacked of some lofty entitlement on John's part. Dave hoped it was a false impression, and his face sobered slightly, even as the payment transaction and incidentals ended congenially enough.

"I mean," John began to Dave as though he were an authority on the subject, "onion rings are like little bites of heaven, don't get me wrong but they're super unwieldy on burgers. Onion strings are like something from the angels to correct the problem," John followed with a small chuckle at his own joke and moved out of the way for Dave to order.

"Okay, I came for a burger, and I want something serious," despite the directness of his words, Dave's voice was friendly and disarming as he addressed the man behind the counter. "I don't want anything fancy or something non-burger trying to be a burger, and I want it to be, like, _substantial_."

The thin, young-looking man behind the counter smirked and nodded, offering, "I can do a double-burger."

"A _double_?" the phrase caused an almost inappropriate smile to spread across Dave's face. "Okay, a double burger, bacon definitely, bleu cheese..."

"Um, I don't have bleu cheese right now," the man at the counter replied, caught off-guard and looking behind him at what was available. "We ran out about ten minutes ago, and I sent one of the guys to get more. Should be back soon if you wanna wait."

"Oh, man, I'm pretty hungry..."

"I have some bleu cheese _sauce_," the man offered.

"Nah, not the same," Dave's expression dropped, thoughtful for a moment. "What other kinds of cheese do you have?"

"Uh, we have the standard American, Swiss, cheddar, the colby-jack," the man rattled off and turned again to the assembly-line to remind himself of the other choices. "We have natural mozzarella, smoked gouda..."

"Smoked gouda," Dave perked suddenly. "You can stop right there. That sounds great."

"What else?" the man behind the counter asked.

"Lettuce, tomato, raw onion, ketchup and mayo on the side: load it up for me."

"Raw onion," John said with a low whistle, "well, I know I ain't kissing you today," he teased.

"Shut up, you're getting onion strings," Dave teased back, smiling and knocking his shoulder into John's, feeling newly at-ease by his exchange, the almost-pornographic mental images of food, and the bromantic common-ground therein.

"Hey, bud?" It required a comment from the counter to reign Dave's focus back in. "You know how to eat. Anything else? Pepper rings, jalapenos?"

"Nah, sometimes I'm in the mood for a kick, but not at the moment," Dave answered, smiling and nodding. "Pickles, maybe?"

"We have standard burger chips, but we also have these really awesome garlic-dills..."

"Oh yeah, that sounds perfect, the garlic-dill," Dave interjected, friendly. "You read my mind, and you are awesome."

"Thank you, gentlemen," the man at the counter pronounced with a chuckle to both John and Dave, taking a bill from Dave and making change. "Give us about five on that."

Dave and John both turned away from the counter to briefly scan the seating area before each addressed the other's face casually.

"Way more adventurous than me," John shook his head. "I don't know what it is about the tomato and pickle on my burger that just screams salad, but I simply... I don't know. Just can't do it."

"That's why there are so many choices, dude," Dave answered, a confidence in his delivery, smiling again as he playfully knocked his arm against John's shoulder a second time.

They compared notes on the different burger-grilling techniques, John eventually pointing out a lettuce-wrapped burger that went out to a young, doe-eyed hippie.

"You know, I'm glad you didn't get that vegan burger. I'm not really one for capital punishment but people that get their burgers wrapped in lettuce instead of on a bun either need therapy or to be shot on sight."

"Mmhmm," Dave hummed noncommittal agreement as he waited for his food. "I mean, do monks buy a lot of inflatable sex-dolls? Are Catholic priests keeping the flesh-jack people in business?"

John opened his mouth and then closed it again quickly, not sure what he wanted to say in response. Dave continued talking when he took this as a positive gesture.

"The vegan obsession with making everything meat-like. I mean, I have been known to indulge in veggie trays and awesome salads with fairly-regular frequency, and I like my broccoli to look and taste like broccoli. _Vegan-burger? _What's the point? I gotta say, though, wrapping a burger in lettuce? That's really no crime in my book."

"Okay, well then, confession time. I have been known, with some regularity, to eat a veggie burger. But only in San Diego and only at Boll Weevils. And, as an added embarrassment bonus, I had a roommate in college that made tofurkey curry that was pretty much one of the best things I've ever eaten. Feel free to run away screaming if you so wish. I won't hold it against you," John guffawed.

"Well, while we are confessing things," Dave contributed, "I will state that I planted myself next to a crock-pot full of not-dogs and sauerkraut at a Halloween party a while back; but there is an advantage to meatless hot-dogs that smell and taste like the real thing."

"And that would be?"

"I was able to eat about six of them without feeling like I ate that many. I'd have never been able to do that with real hot dogs." Dave shrugged, "I like to eat; I make no apologies for that."

"Well," John offered with a shrug. "I think that's a perk of being a bear. Being able to go out and eat, I mean _really_ eat. Not a nibble here and there but I mean, like, enjoy your life and your food, and it's wicked awesome."

Dave's smile hardened skeptically. "_Is_ that a bear thing? I thought it was just, like, a _human_ thing. Guess I'm tired of..."

"Oh, order's up!" John shouted, ignoring Dave's incomplete statement, jumping into action, picking up the food, and handing Dave his plate while pointing to another booth. "So, the tie-dye booth over there. Did I tell you I know that guy? We did a stage production of _Godspell,_ and it was really cool. He does these socks that are wicked awesome."

"Sounds nice," Dave said politely if not a little cold as they moved into the seating area.

They found a far-off table, and Dave placed the complimentary order of curly fries between them. John looked down and thought. "Here, you got macaroons last time, let me get the root beer this time. IBC, cold bottle, you'll love it."

"Wait," Dave said as John rose, "I gotta know, man, are we on a hang out or on a date?"

"I- well, I _thought_ it was a date?" John asked tentatively.

"Okay. Just checking," Dave spoke with a hint of sarcasm and eyes skeptically trained on John's. "And sure, root beer sounds good," Dave added, his voice growing calmer, his expression less uncertain.

John walked back to the area with the booths and bought the soda, attempting to allow the cool of the glass calm his jangled nerves. Was it possible he was actually getting worse at this and not better?

"I mean, I _hope_ it's a date," John tried to say in a way of apology as he placed the bottles on the table and seated himself.

"Honestly, either is fine with me," Dave answered. "I'm just trying to get a sense of where _your_ head is on this."

"It's just that... I don't usually get second dates," John added, an extension of his last sentence, as if oblivious to Dave's statement between.

Dave quirked his head as he finished a bite. "Yeah? Why not? It have something to do with not giving the other guy your number?" Sarcasm masquerading as indifference.

"I," John took a moment to chew on a curly fry, "Yes and no. There haven't been a lot of guys that got a second date, mostly because I'm just not very good at this."

Dave rested his forearms on the edge of the table, his hands keeping the unruly burger-assembly together admirably. "Well, no, of course you're not if you keep acting like a ferret with a firecracker in his ass the whole time. What's making you nervous? I mean, I'm just a guy."

"That's just it," John said as he bored a hole in the table with his stare and picked up his burger to take a bite, "you're a regular guy. I... I guess, maybe I'm not sure exactly what I want, but, whatever that is, I'm trying not to screw this up."

Dave's expression cleared, remaining serious but suddenly curious as well. "That was pretty forthcoming and honest. I appreciate that, but, seriously, screw up what?" Dave hung onto the final consonant, punctuating it with the directness of his eyes.

John swallowed a mouthful of burger and a gulp of rootbeer, exhaling loudly as he finished. "You busted me lying to you about my age last week."

"That's kinda immaterial," Dave offered, indifferent, as he hoisted his burger again. "Who _hasn't_ lied about their age? Hell, I lied about my age to get into a gay bar in Ohio when I was eighteen. I'd be a total fool to think that you're the _last_ guy that's going to misrepresent their age to me."

"Not the same," John answered, slightly stung by Dave's reply and sounding somewhat confrontational but with his eyes still fixed downward toward the table and holding his sandwich as if in preparation to bite into it again.

Dave's face betrayed the edge of a sarcastic smile as he addressed John. "It sounds like you want it to bother me more than it does."

"Why doesn't it bother you?" John sounded almost disillusioned as his eyes met Dave's.

"It just doesn't," Dave turned his attention back to his burger, finding it more interesting than John's ineffectual stare, opening his mouth and taking a large, gratifying bite.

John was silent for some time, brow creasing, speaking finally. "Either way, I appreciate you seeing me after how I screwed up last time."

Dave tilted his head and licked a smear of ketchup from his thumb, indifferent. "We don't have anything to screw up yet."

"Yet?"

"Oh, c'mon," Dave shook his head and rolled his eyes upward. "You're acting like the gravity of this situation is killing you. In reality, we had a really cool icebreaker in a bar over drinks, an awkward coffee-date, and, I don't know what to make of this; but you're asking for a 'yet'?"

"Why _shouldn't_ there be a yet?" John's eyes met Dave's, almost stunned, conscious of a realization that they might on vastly different pages.

"I didn't say that there _couldn't_ be a 'yet', but, _really_, I'm not thinking that way. This is the third time we've gone out, and the results have been all over the freaking map. It's not like we're gonna be moving in together next week, and, in your own words, you don't know what you're looking for. I came here with no expectations today. Why are you trying to force an agenda?"

John was silent, eyes unfocused but aimed at the tabletop, burger in his hands before him.

"Well?" Dave asked, curious but not pressing.

"Because I still believe in fairy tale romance and no guy wants that hassle," John stated with an edge of hard honesty in his voice, seeming to find a sesame seed on his bun very interesting in that moment.

Now Dave was momentarily silent. "I got nothin'. You just lost me on that one." Dave spoke finally, wanting to add as well, _'now you're just talkin' crazy.'_

"I knew this was a bad idea."

Dave suppressed a laugh. "It was _your_ idea. _You_ called _me_, remember?"

"Why did you agree to meet me?"

"Listen, I'm up for making friends, ones that I can relate to and go out and have fun with. If something else happens along the way, whether it's once or twice or a few times, I could be up for that. If something bigger develops, I'm open to that also. All of a sudden, you seem to have some immediate everything-or-nothing attitude in mind that I didn't see before. I'm young. You're not exactly old. Neither of us should feel like we need to be married off any time soon." Dave's face was serious, nodding like a punctuation mark at the end of his statement while addressing John's eyes causing his gaze to drop away immediately.

"I," John felt his hand start to tremble. "It doesn't really matter," John spoke, almost a whisper.

"You'll have to speak up. Live band a couple of nights back gave me a bit of tinnitus. _What_?"

"I said it doesn't matter," John voiced serious and decisive with a swallow.

Dave quirked his brow. "Alright, so it doesn't matter. Sure, why not? Let's go with that." Dave turned away for a moment, an expression of near-frustration, before addressing John straight-on again. "Then why the heck are we here? And why the sudden weirdness?"

"Weirdness?" John spoke the word quietly, taken aback, visibly stung.

Dave's face sobered, hinting at concern. "I'm sorry if that came off as mean. I didn't mean it that way."

John shook his head as he smeared a fry in ketchup. "I have a couple of friends who kinda pulled me aside recently, got me thinking about boyfriend and relationship stuff. I gotta say that when we first met, I wasn't really thinking that way."

"If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't thinking about anything other than getting laid the first time I met you."

John raised his eyes to meet Dave's, stunned and stung again.

"Geeze, man," Dave reacted to John's expression. "I didn't mean anything negative by it. If anything, what I'm trying to say is that I thought you were kinda cute and fun and funny. I won't apologize if that got me thinking with the wrong head, I mean, all that stuff is complimentary, I'd think."

John faced downward again, away from Dave's eyes, into the table, exhaled loudly again, and met Dave's eyes once more as he began to speak. "Look, you hit all my major points for a good guy, the right kind of the guy, the guy I've been looking for all my life, and I know... I _know_ it's crazy and early and I've obviously got the nerves of a small chihuahua until you've known me longer than two weeks on a daily basis, but I've got bad boyfriend history, and I've buried myself in work to forget it, and I don't, I don't think I remember what John is actually like with a guy. I mean, even at church..."

"Is the not-going-to-church thing a deal-breaker?" Dave sounded quietly, not sure if he was reaching for an understanding approach or a quick way out.

John shrugged. "Wren makes it work, says he respects his partner's decisions and they seem happy, but I don't know, I was always hoping a guy would show up at MCC and somehow they'd just be the right one and I could do all the bible stuff with them and not feel like... never mind. It's silly."

"Look, you've got nothing to worry about. If you only knew about some of the guys I've tried to be involved with, _nothing_ is silly," Dave said quietly, shaking his head. "Going to church with you is not something I _wouldn't _do. Just, like, don't expect it to profoundly change me or me to get suddenly filled with the Holy Spirit or something. And it's not exactly something I'd jump right into, like I'm not dying to try out the church thing. Other than any presumptions like that, I'm open to new experiences." Dave wasn't sure if he was feigning interest just to make John feel better, having possibly hurt him a minute earlier.

John shook his head. "No, sorry. I'm not sure you're gonna find that there either. I mean, I did the charismatic thing for a while. My dad, for instance," John said while a nabbing a piece of free bacon on the side of his burger while Dave's mind drifted to the sound of John's voice as he said something about the Graham family and tent revivals and televangelists: all fairly uninteresting and definitely foreign to Dave's personal concerns.

Dave dutifully made occasional eye contact while John rambled though he was retaining almost nothing. Finally through all the words which were registering , _Blah, blah, blah_, on Dave's radar, Dave's senses cleared just as John was winding down his conversational drift.

"As far as I'm concerned, the charismatic movement had its place, but there's new stuff now. Like MCC."

"Okay, so I don't know the acronym." Dave caught three letters and thought he should at least appear like he'd been paying attention.

"Oh, yeah, umm...Metropolitan Community Church. It's a whole movement around the world with this special ministry for people wanting to embrace their faith and sexuality as God made it, though I daresay we have it easy in Portland. Too easy sometimes I think. You know, our pastor's pretty funny too. Doesn't even want to be called pastor, kinda weird. Wants me to call him Jason of all things, like seriously, I get it's your name, but-"

John stopped himself when he noticed Dave was chuckling. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, it's just that you're kinda funny." Dave wasn't lying, but he was finding humor in the absurdity of John's rambling, not the content or manner of John's speech.

John shook his head, unaware of the silent critique. "Nah. I'm just super-opinionated like a good little Aries."

Dave's face sobered slightly, a hint of confrontation. "Well, I'm a Cancer. Excepting that that's really not my thing at all."

"A fire and a water sign together?" John noted.

"Well, if you believe that kinda stuff, maybe could make some steam," Dave feigned indifference, nodding and facing upward, eventually landing his gaze directly on John's eyes.

John's blush lightened the area as he took off the top of his bun and pilfered a couple of onion strings. "You like to talk about sex a little more than I'm used to. A little more than I kinda do."

"Is that bad?"

"No, it's just... I... I think you're too attractive for me. I mean, how could we ever do stuff out in public? I'm always gonna be jealous cause you're, well, I mean, you're you."

"What, _me_? Come on!" Dave scowled playfully. "Besides, who said anything about doing anything in public?"

John's blush deepened. "No, I'm serious. You're kind of beyond handsome."

Dave grinned sheepishly if unintentionally exaggerated by an edge of discomfort. "I'll take that as a compliment. And, my guess, but it's not like this is the first time you've wondered what I look like naked," Dave whispered conspiratorially. "I mean, come on, we're both dudes. It's okay. Isn't that what you said that your church was all about earlier?"

John's face shaded beet-red. "I can't believe we're still having this conversation."

"Better than no conversation at all, and _you_ were the one to suggest tying me to my chair at the coffee place last week." Dave crossed his arms and arched his eyebrows: an expression of challenge on his face. "I don't get the jealously thing. I could maybe see, like, admiration or something. I remember the first real crush I had. I look back on it and I can't believe that I thought that guy was really attractive. I mean, I admired his personality and how unafraid he was to be himself, but he wouldn't turn my head if I saw him walking down the street right now."

"Caught, but I didn't mean, I'm not into, guhh. What was that guy like, if you don't mind me asking? I mean, I had a thing for jocks so I don't think you can really get more mismatched than a bookworm and a jock in high school," John stated as he reached for another fry.

Dave's face became serious, first appearing insecure, taking on a blush of his own, but he faced upward and addressed John's eyes directly, an almost piercing, quietly accusing expression. "He was fussy and fastidious and incredibly obvious. And confrontational about it, like, punk-rock-confrontational, only instead of a giant graffiti letter A, he waved a metaphorical glittery rainbow in everyone's face. Everyone knew he was gay before he actually made it public. I knew he was gay before I knew _I_ was gay." All of the color drained from Dave's face, and he became as warm and inviting as a tombstone.

Dave continued, his expression taking on an almost accusing directness. "For a mismatch to happen, two things need to be placed together for a nominal amount of time so the clash can be observed. We were never even remotely together; we were just in the same place at the same time. We even pledged to become friends, and in doing so, he became the first in a seemingly unending parade of gay men who made me feel like the biggest misfit to walk on the planet. No real acceptance. Just fashion tips and a sarcastically-verbalized checklist of handbook violations as they occurred." Dave's color began to return as his expression finally softened. "You know that thing they always say about love and hate not being opposites but really being separated only by a thin line?"

John stopped with his burger in his hand, barbecue sauce starting to run down his fingers. He put the burger down and wiped off his hand with a napkin then thought for a moment. "I was like him in high school then. I mean, I didn't come out until college but I was sassy and theatrical and, for God's sake, I performed Celine Dion for a talent show when I wasn't desperately trying to be the popular nerd." John sighed. "Of course, I never hit on any one and we had one guy who joined the cheerleading team and the things people said about him man, and that was in Vegas. I can only imagine how tough it was still bein' in Ohio."

"Tell me something," Dave interjected although it didn't seem that John was completely finished with what he was saying, "if, ummm..." Dave paused for a long moment before completing quietly, "Forget it."

"No, what?" John asked, sounding interested, "What were you going to say?"

"If you knew someone like I was back when you were in high school, a jock-kinda guy who was gay and having a hard time dealing with it, would you have been sympathetic with him, or would you have kinda mocked him because you thought you were so much further ahead of the curve than he was?" Dave stared forward, shaking his head slightly, expression slightly pained. "You don't hafta answer that," he spoke downward toward the table, almost a whisper.

John thought for a moment. "Peter took a lot of crap for becoming the first male cheerleader. I never personally harassed him and I only ever vaguely stood up for him. Truth was, I was a mess back then and coming out was the furthest thing from my mind. Hell, knowing me back then, I wouldn't have had a clue. I had no space to mock anybody, in fact, I'm pretty sure I was the guy wrecking the grade curve that was more than mocked without help from anybody else."

Dave shook his head, still facing downward, a serious, confused expression. "I probably would have been pretty terrible to someone like you. Sucks to admit that. Sorry for bringing the mood down."

John shook his head sadly, looking at Dave with a sigh. "I would have deserved it. I was a real mouthy shit during high school. I didn't have any friends outside of the teachers. And frankly, I've changed so much since graduation that I don't hold anything against anyone at this point. I've learned we're nothing like the people we thought we were when we were eighteen. I think, thank you, for sharing that. It was brave."

Dave remained stoic. "You call it brave, I call it terrifying."

John shook his head, a smile nearly forming on his face. "No, you know what was terrifying? Not being a fan of the Buckeyes and living in Toledo. I always supported Purdue during all those stupid midwestern college games. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that's just the way I feel about it," John raised his hands in mock-surrender, trying to make them both feel more at ease. "Don't blame me for being a wannabe Hoosier. I'm just an imperfect bear tryin' to make his way in the world."

"Well," said with a visible shrug as he warmed again after an awkward tension, "at least you're out of there now. That makes things better. You and I are kinda in the same boat, and it's refreshing to hear you talking football. And as far as being a Buckeye, well, I've been a Notre Dame fan a lot longer than I ever preferred the Buckeyes. Sometimes I thought the Buckeye fans were just a little off, though I must confess to getting teary-eyed when I hear 'Hang on Sloopy'. Scoop and the guys from the band will never understand. I guess us Ohioans can't shake that"

John nodded. "Oh God, I remember that it used to split churches clear down the middle during football season. I used to, uhh, I used to joke that for about a month a year I was just going to run away to Frankenmouth and avoid all the hullabaloo and live on fried chicken and sell Christmas ornaments," John guffawed. "I'm totally not imagining you in Christmas lederhosen by the way."

Dave chuckled. "Well thanks for that. Now I am envisioning myself in German gear. I hope your visual is as fun as mine."

At this point, Dave's burger was gone, the plate of french fries contained little more than crumbs and the remainder of a smear of ketchup, and John's burger was dwindling. "So, how _was_ your burger?" John asked as he considered the best way to wrest the next bite from his.

"It was seriously awesome."

Dave inclined his neck, taking a deep gulp and finishing his rootbeer; as he returned his his head to its conversational level, his eyes fell upon John as he finished his sandwich, and Dave's face took a thoughtful expression.

John became aware of Dave's eyes trained upon him and decided to play along, feeling as if Dave was admiring his appearance from across the table. John wiped his mouth with a napkin and reached for his bottle of rootbeer, curling his hand around it, lifting and pulling it toward him to casually drink from the bottle's lip. He swallowed and addressed Dave in an intentionally-hushed tone.

"You know, you weren't the only one who was thinking with his _other head_ the two previous times we met."

Dave shook his head for a moment, and his eyes dropped away from John, finally raising his gaze to meet John's eyes again.

John lowered his head and grinned devilishly, eyes trained upward at Dave's face. "What say we skip outta here and act on that?"

Shaking his head more quickly, Dave squeezed his eyes closed tight for a moment, reopened them and addressed John directly. "That is an entirely tempting suggestion, and if we'd eaten our lunch in relative silence, I might be up for it. As it is, though, with all of the talking and back-and-forth and the absolutely bipolar tone of our discussion, I don't think I'm up for that today. I'm not sure what you're looking for. By your own admission, _you're_ not sure what you're looking for. If it was as simple as getting laid, we'd have made it happen by now."

John's face reddened as he dropped his eyes from Dave's. "I'm sorry. Now I feel like I made things _really_ awkward."

"It was awkward already."

"But it was winding down kinda nicely, like, if I hadn't opened my mouth just now, thinking with my dick, we might be getting together again."

"I'm not opposed to the idea of seeing you again. We just maybe talked too much today."

"Bad habit of mine," John mumbled.

"If you want to hang out again sometime, I'm game. I'd welcome the idea of someone to hang with and talk with. It might go further than that, who knows? The thing is, you have some thinking to do. For my part, I'm not focused on anything specific yet."

"You'd really do this again?"

Dave's expression became sarcastic. "I wouldn't volunteer to have the same kinda conversation we had today all over again, not under the pretense of a fun, happy afternoon of burgers and suggestive chatter."

John laughed, then apologized. "I'm sorry. You're delivery cracks me up sometimes. Yeah, I know this wasn't any fun."

"Some of it was fun," Dave admitted, a natural-but-still-crooked smile formed on his face. "But the stuff that wasn't exactly _fun_ was still kinda interesting. Thing is, you never know where any conversation is going to go. I had no expectations going into this today. You have my number." Dave paused for a moment, his expression benign. "It wouldn't hurt if you gave me yours."

John stood slowly from the table, hanging his head and nodding, smiling slightly but not addressing Dave. "Thanks. Hope the rest of your weekend is good."

With that, John walked away into the crowd and was lost to Dave's eyes in a moment. Dave, still sitting, shook his head, baffled at John's departure but chuckling again at the absurdity of the situation.

* * *

John took the wings out of the crockpot and handed a plate of them to Katie, whose eyes brightened at the smell of wafting barbecue.

She took the plate gratefully and sat it down on the breakfast bar of Gene and John's loft, the bar doubling as the table of the small apartment. "God bless your home cooking."

John nodded, almost a bow. "God bless your ability to withstand my new weird recipe crazes."

"This from the man who made the giant cookie sundae sandwich? Perish the thought. So, tell me about this guy you keep refusing to tell me about over skype."

"Which guy?"

"The guy that's keeping you from finishing your written conversation in the roleplay. That guy."

John made a noise in the back of his throat and screwed up his face. "Excuse _you_, you're not even _in_ that writing group."

"All the same. Spill, tell me things. Illicit things. Juicy things. Things I can vicariously live through."

John stared forward as he took a wing into his hands, acting nearly oblivious to her question, stoic. "No."

"Are there no illicit things to tell?"

John took a bite of the wing. "That's right. Nothing to tell."

"Have you even talked about?"

"We met three times. I keep messing it up. He's not going to want to meet me again, and I still haven't given him my number. What do _you_ think?"

"Well, one, you're evading the question. And two, so...you're tossing aside writing to go on dates with a guy you don't plan on seeing again?"

"Well, that last part, true as it is, was an unplanned, recent development."

"God, I can't imagine what you'd do for a guy you adore." She faced upward, a dreamy expression, mocking John.

"That guy doesn't exist He's some combination of old Russell Crowe and new Joaquin Phoenix. And no," John said with punctuation, "my standards aren't too high."

"No, they're just the stuff of fantasy, and you keep defining them in terms of the unattainable. And please get some music going."

John gave a little henpecked bow. "Of course, you know I love you the most, my dear."

"Too bad you're into guys or you'd be perfect."

"Nowhere near perfect," John answered as the oven dinged. "Oh, cornbread." John pivoted and sprang toward the oven, speaking again as he pulled the door open. "So _you_ tell _me_, what do _you_ think my perfect guy would be like since you're so interested in finding me one, poor bastard though he'd be?"

"Well, he'd have to be husky since you love cooking all kinds of weird crap. He'd have to have some kind of sense of humor. A fan of some kind of show you two could giggle about like little Japanese school girls. Let's see, faith in something but not necessarily religious. Dark hair, 'cause blondes never seem to do it for you. Cleans up nicely in case you wanna go on a fancy date. How am I doing?"

John crossed his arms as he set the cornbread on top of the little stove. "I hate you a little bit right now, to be honest."

"Why? Cause I'm telling the truth? You'd better have something good to drink around here if you're roping me into helping you find a guy."

"You're not, I mean, I do," John sighed by way of an answer as he cut the cornbread into squares. "It's complicated."

Katie rolled her eyes. "Everything with you is complicated. You are going to kill yourself with an anxiety attack one of these days, and that is going to be written on your tombstone in big letters: _It's complicated_."

"And then the world will forever know," John said as he slid a piece of cornbread onto the lip of Katie's plate and began chewing a piece himself while thinking.

Everything Katie had just described was Dave, well, with the exception of giggling like Japanese schoolgirls because Dave just didn't seem the type to get that enthusiastic over any television show excepting a televised sporting event. And the 'cleans up nicely' part was fantasy speculation on John's part, though Dave had always appeared presentable. Very presentable. And it wasn't complicated; it was dead. John had put another nail into the coffin. Dave still didn't have his number, and John was too damned embarrassed to call him again.

In his silence, John mused further: 'It's Dead' would have a certain blunt gallows-humor-appeal on a tombstone as well.

* * *

Dave stepped into his darkened apartment. He could see light coming from the hallway, from within Scoop's bedroom, the door ajar.

"That you, Dave?" he heard Scoop call.

"No, it's the Portland Strangler," Dave joked, chuckling. "Of course it's me."

"Hey, man, I'll be out in a second," Scoop answered back.

Dave switched on a small table lamp, casting a pool of light into the living room, and seated himself on the couch facing the television, shaking his head slightly with a perplexed grin on his face. Scoop joined him almost directly, energetic, seating himself on the chair perpendicular to the couch.

"Hey," Scoop smiled, addressing Dave, "how'd that date go?"

Dave snorted a laugh and faced Scoop with a big smile. "Honestly, I don't know, man."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Scoop seemed almost inappropriately concerned.

"The food was awesome," Dave began. "We talked for maybe an hour. Or maybe I should say that _he_ talked for fifty minutes and _we_ talked for about ten."

"Oh geeze..." Scoop rolled his eyes. "I've been out with chicks who, I swear, talk just to fill the silence because they fear it. Hell, I've done that myself. Insecurity thing usually."

"I might have been able to live with that. I mean, even when I'm not interested in what he's saying, at least he's not rattling on about stuff that would be typical of the other guys I've gone out with."

"What do you mean?"

Dave shook his head and smirked. "He was talking about food like it's something he thinks about more than he actually eats. That was okay. Then he went off on this tangent about this church thing he's in. I tuned most of that out."

"What do the other guys you've gone out with normally talk about?"

"Remember that Mark guy?" Dave turned his head and addressed Scoop, grinning. "The first conversation we had was about how great it was that he just scored a Louis Vuitton handbag for his 3-year-old niece and couldn't wait until she was older so he could give it to her for her sweet-sixteen birthday gift."

Scoop puzzled. "What's Louis Baton and what does that even mean?"

"You'd know if you were gay," Dave said after chuckling at Scoop's blunt reaction.

"You mean, like, congenitally?"

Dave nearly choked on a laugh. "No, you'd have googled it like I did a few years back, found out that Louis Vuitton is a purse-designer, and probably, like I did, filed the information away as totally unimportant."

Scoop nodded, simultaneously making a humming sound, grasping the cognitive disconnect at work within the hypothetical conversation.

"But, at one point, we got talking about how things were for us back in high school. Stuff I hadn't thought about in years. Stuff that I really never talked with anyone about but stuff that I sure thought about and agonized about back then."

"Ah," Scoop nodded. "You never talked to me much about high school. Definitely not about stuff like that."

Dave smirked though his expression betrayed an awkwardness. "There was never any reason to talk to you about that part of my past. It was kinda painful stuff. Stuff I probably couldn't have verbalized back then, and stuff that I just don't think about every day. I probably made a conscious-though-failed effort to bury a lot of it."

"You know you can talk to me about anything, Dave."

"You're my best friend. Nobody's gonna be taking that title away from you, okay?" Dave's face lost its smirk, understanding Scoop's overture. "The thing is, people like me and John, anyone who's ever grown up with some identity problem that way, anyone who gets thinking at some point that they're falling short of societal expectations, we've all lived through something that you never did."

Scoop was silent for a moment, processing, finally answering, "I can be an unconditional friend and offer you nonjudgmental support, but I can never know what it is to be you."

Dave nodded, seeming relieved. "Yeah, exactly. I hope that doesn't bother you or something."

Scoop smiled small but genuine, shaking his head. "Nah, Dave, it's cool."

"But you're an incredible confidant in the here-and-now," Dave offered, sincere.

"You've been that to me more than I've been that to you," Scoop spoke, serious and definitive.

"True as that might be, I know that you'll listen to me if I need to talk," Dave spoke as he raised his arm and reached, placing his hand on Scoop's shoulder momentarily. "And you've dated a lot more than I have. I mean, I'm gay and you're straight, but we're all human. The process can't be _that_ different, right? And I know you're not gonna give me some societally-dictated guy-ness or bros-before-hoes nonsense. We know each other too well for that."

Scoop turned his head to face Dave, raising an eyebrow, puzzled expression. "Huh?"

"If you were messed-up over some girl that you really liked, what would you do? You'd probably buy a case of beer and invite a bunch of the guys over to get drunk with you and tell you things like, 'forget her' and 'you're better-off without her' and 'she wasn't good enough for you anyway,' because that's how society tells us guys that we're supposed to act. That may or may not be how you actually feel about it, though. Am I right?"

Scoop looked hard at Dave for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I think I kinda get what you mean."

"What I'm saying is that the bros-before-hoes thing is really all just a cover for what's really going on."

"You messed-up over this dude?" Scoop asked, a mixture of concern and dismay.

"_Geeze_, no," Dave shook his head and nearly laughed. "As far as I know, this is done. The conversation ended with him trying to get me to go off somewhere to fool around with him and me declining and him walking away, barely saying goodbye."

Scoop's brow creased as he cocked his head. "I thought you just wanted to get laid or something."

"The conversation kinda changed that," Dave exhaled loudly. "This guy doesn't know what he wants, and his nervous rambling was kinda unattractive. Us getting into each other's heads when we were talking about our past kinda moved it to a different level. Not bad, just different. Intriguing, actually."

"But you don't think you're gonna see him again."

Dave shook his head. "I told him I would, he never gave me his number, ball's in his court, and he looked kinda humiliated when he left."

"Self-centered."

"Huh?" Dave's expression piqued.

"You left the door open, and he's bitter about not scoring," Scoop answered. "Sounds kinda like he thinks a bit much of himself."

"Well, I can't be in his head, and the timing wasn't right for me. I could have talked with him for another hour, and _that_ might have changed my feelings about getting in the sack with him, but he kinda stalled by talking too much and then jumped the gun."

"Do you _want_ to see him again?"

"I don't know," Dave reached up and scratched the back of his neck. "Maybe he's more effort than he's worth, though the absurdity of the situation does have its entertainment value."

Scoop chuckled, nodding in agreement.

"Any hypotheticals or theories as to why he wouldn't give me his number? I mean, I asked him for it."

"I've _never_ done that," Scoop recalled almost self-mocking. "I'm the guy who writes his phone number on bar napkins and annoys girls by trying to give it out to them only to find the napkins soggy and disintegrating on vacated bars and tables in puddles of spilt beer by the end of the night. That's me. But I can understand why someone might not give their number out if they like someone."

Dave stared at Scoop for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for him to expand that last thought.

"_Well?_" Dave spoke loudly, startling Scoop and causing him to jump in the otherwise quiet apartment. "Why would someone do that?"

"It's like, pre-emptive damage-control," Scoop answered, sounding almost authoritative.

Dave's brow wrinkled, confused, shaking his head slowly.

"It's like, he's maybe afraid that you aren't into him," Scoop explained. "Or maybe that you aren't into him the way he's into you. Whatever the case, regardless of whether you like him or not, he always can choose to believe that you'd call him if you had his number. By keeping his number from you, he has the option to think that you'd be calling him if you could."

"Wow. That's kinda messed-up." Dave chucked and shook his head. "That ups the absurdity, definitely. There's a logic to it, but it's screwy."

Scoop spoke quietly through a cocky snicker. "This guy sounds like he might have an excess amount of baggage. Um, he might be a lot to take on even if you were really interested."

Dave nodded, a crooked smile on his face. "I'd be the first person to say that to you if you lived my date this afternoon. The first night we met at that Tardis Bar thing, yeah, I had a great time talking with him. If it had just stayed like that, I might have been just friends with the guy. Or gotten laid. Or both. The thing is, he never made me feel like he expected me to be someone other than who I am. I don't have many gay friends or acquaintances, but I can't name another one who didn't make me feel clueless on some level." Dave paused for a moment before continuing. "I think I need to do something about expanding my circle of gay friends. And I have a fair amount of baggage too, stuff I never told you about. Stuff that's never really been important in the way you and I relate to each other."

Scoop nodded. "Yeah, well, there's stuff about me that you're not aware of either, and it's probably better that way. Suffice to know this: I'd never hold anything from your past against you. We've logged-on too much best-friend time."

"I hear you," Dave spoke through a smirk, feeling somewhat relaxed again.

"You know, for as many times as I've been busted-up over some girl, you've never given me the bros-before-hoes spiel," Scoop confided.

"That's because I always knew it was only a temporary fix to whatever was bothering you."

"You remember that Laney girl from a couple of years ago?"

Dave rolled his eyes, an exasperated expression. "How could I forget? I thought she was gonna get a restraining order against you."

Scoop chuckled aloud.

"Okay, laugh about it," Dave teased, nearly laughing himself, "It wasn't any fun at all when it was happening."

"Oh, I know, man," Scoop returned. "But, you know, you gave me some solid advice when I was dealing with that. It really helped me out."

"What'd I say?" Dave sounded curious, as if genuinely drawing a blank.

"Well, I'd tell you that Laney always said that I was difficult to deal with, but, as far as I was concerned, that was me, and I'm not that simple. Like, complex people are difficult. You told me that people don't want to be around difficult people all the time. The people that other people choose to be with are generally people who make it easy for them to be around. I was wearing my complexity proudly on my sleeve while Laney just probably wanted someone who wasn't like a damned psychological test every time she saw him. Then I'd go on about how she was my soulmate if only she could only come to that realization. You told me that she wasn't my soulmate. You said that she couldn't possibly be the perfect girl for me if I wasn't the perfect guy for her. It sucked to be told that, but it was the truth, and it made a hell of a lot more sense than anything my other friends told me at the time."

Dave's brow creased, thoughtful. "You know, you haven't been hung up on anyone since then. Not like that, at least."

"Well, I've grown up, I think. If I feel like I'm getting pulled into that mindset about some girl, I think about what you said to me and how much sense it makes, and that helps me sort stuff out." Scoop paused for a moment, measuring his thoughts. "Tell me, Dave, this John guy: is he easy for you to be around?"

"Like I said, unlike some other dudes I've hung out with, he doesn't make me feel uncomfortable or tell me I'm listening to the wrong kinda music or watching the wrong TV shows. On the other hand, maybe it's nervous chatter, but he talks so much he makes my freaking ears tired. Sometimes I feel like I can feel my blood-pressure skyrocket sympathetically with his own. That brief part of the conversation where we found some kinda common ground, though? I feel like I could get close to someone like that. If that was ten minutes out of the hour that we hung out, that's sixteen-point-six-six-six percent: forty-three points shy of a passing grade, percentage-wise."

Scoop let out a hearty laugh. "That is _so_ you! Math calculations and percentage-points to pull things into perspective. Sometimes I wish I had your sense of logic in such matters."

* * *

_Referenced music:_  
_"Sweet Jane" by the Velvet Underground, a rock-bar standard_  
_"Enter Sandman" by Metallica (the default ringer on Dave's phone)_


	4. Waiting for the Fallout

**Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.**

**The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.**

**Thank you.**

**The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series _Glee_.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 9,500.**

* * *

The remainder of Saturday had been spent bar-hopping with Scoop and his other friends, and Dave welcomed the familiarity of his regular crowd after his confounding meeting with John earlier in the day; despite the fairly late hour of return Saturday night, Sunday morning found Dave waking early, remarkably clear-headed, and focused. Scoop, however, barely woke in time to meet their friends at the park for the late-afternoon basketball game they'd planned. Some of the guys' girlfriends met them for pizza and drinks afterward before Dave and Scoop returned to their apartment early Sunday evening, Dave awaiting his dad's weekly phone call and collecting his items for Monday's classes.

Monday passed without incident as Dave motivated himself to adhere more strictly to his previously-casual routines of an early-morning run and regular visits to the athletic department's weight room. When Dave returned to his apartment, he spoke with Scoop, making plans to have a have a group of their friends over for dinner later in the week. There was no rain in the forecast for the next few days, and it had been months, probably the previous autumn, since Scoop had entertained the crowd of them with his barbecuing prowess. The idea, though, was Dave's suggestion.

Tuesday passed much in the same manner as Monday had. Dave's last class of the day was in the late afternoon, and he stopped at the grocery store before returning to the apartment. Scoop was rousted from his place in front of the television when he heard Dave letting himself in through the deck-entrance.

"Hey, what's going on?" Scoop appeared in the entryway to the kitchen and greeted Dave as Dave pulled several filled reusable grocery bags from the deck into the small kitchen area.

"I did all of the grocery shopping for tomorrow on my way home from school," Dave answered.

"Oh, man, thanks, but you didn't hafta do that," Scoop rushed to the doorway to assist Dave with the cumbersome number of bags. "I was gonna go out tomorrow morning for this stuff," Scoop glanced at the bags' contents as Dave lifted them from the doorway into the kitchen.

"Nah, it's cool," Dave replied. "Whole thing was my idea so I thought I should at least save you the trouble and pay for the stuff. I saw your shopping list sitting on the table this morning so I grabbed a pic before I left for class."

Scoop smirked and shook his head. "You're so freaking resourceful, Karofsky."

"Well, I had to stop at the grocery store to pick up the stuff that I'm making for tomorrow night as well. No sense in making two trips."

"Truth," Scoop agreed as he opened the refrigerator, moving items, making places for the new groceries, finally continuing, "You sure you wanna go through with this, Dave?"

"Yeah, absolutely," Dave answered. "Too much stuff in the last few weeks has kinda made me feel like this is the time, whether my friends are ready to hear about it or not. I'd rather have me tell them and have them know for certain that way than have them guessing or asking questions about me or something. I mean, you brought it up because of that Tardis bar thing a couple of weeks ago, and Tony busted me checking out a guy from the other band at the show last week, although I'm not sure if Tony exactly realizes that. I'd been seeing a few guys though nothing really consistent, but if I should want to bring someone with me sometime when we're all hanging out, I want to feel that I can be comfortable doing that."

"Well, you know I have your back, man."

"That's all I need going into this."

"You've been getting up damned early the past couple of days," Scoop noted as he slid two packages of ground beef onto the lowest shelf of the refrigerator.

"I've been going running," Dave answered as he hung an empty reusable grocery bag onto a towel hook. "Gonna be hitting the weight room more regularly too."

"That's cool."

"Yeah, I must have had, like, an epiphany in my sleep Saturday night."

"Uh-oh. What about?" Scoop's voice was slightly muffled as he faced the interior of the refrigerator, moving items to fit the groceries onto the shelves.

"I guess a few things," Dave explained as pulled a large bag of tortilla chips out of a grocery bag and placed it on the table. "That guy I went out with a couple of times got me thinking about how I gotta expand my circle of gay friends; and I want to feel like I can be open around my friends about it."

"Gotcha," Scoop spoke as he turned around and assessed the items remaining on the table. "Have you heard from that guy?"

"Done deal. I told him I'd go out with him again, and that was true enough when I said it, but the way he left on Saturday seemed kinda final. I think he has a _few things_ to work out on his own, and I don't need to be dealing with frustrating, psychotic external forces." Dave snickered his delivery. "Life is complicated enough without that. All-in-all, a couple of hours of my life I'll never get back, but it ends there."

"Yeah, besides, you gotta be ready to deal with _my_ frustrating, psychotic behavior when it happens," Scoop joked.

"Ain't that the truth," Dave razzed back, a cocky smirk on his face. "Anyway, I want to concentrate on making some friends. Then, once finals are over, if it feels like someone I've met is my speed, I'll take it from there when that time comes."

"Sounds like a plan, Dave."

Dave nodded as his phone sprang to noisy life with an incoming call. Dave reached in to his pocket and checked the screen curiously before answering. "It's my dad," he noted aloud.

Scoop shook his head and pushed Dave's shoulder in a friendly manner. "I got the rest of these groceries. Go ahead and take your call."

"Thanks," Dave smirked and nodded, entering the living room and answering the call.

"Hello?"

"Hello, David," Paul's voice sounded through the telephone. "It's me, your dad. Are you busy? If I'm interrupting something, I can call back later."

"No, Dad, nothing really," Dave spoke into the phone, a clear, comfortable tone and expression; Dave always welcomed hearing from his father. "I just got in, but I'm not busy or anything right now."

"Well, okay. I want to talk to you then."

"Must be important. You just called Sunday night."

"David, your mother and I are separating. We'll be getting a divorce." The words came abruptly as if Paul needed to get them out of his mouth as quickly as possible.

Dave exhaled quietly; he was otherwise silent as the benign expression on his face fell to one of confusion and concern. It felt as if everything halted in that moment.

"David? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, Dad, sorry. I, uh, don't know what to say."

"There's not really much to say. Your mother and I, we're... just too different. We both understand that, and, well, we tried to work it out for three years now. It's just not working."

"This is because of me."

Dave could hear Paul inhale audibly over the phone, sounding as if he was aware of the delicate approach his response required. "David, it's not your fault."

"But this all started when I was in high school, when I came out. You and mom were fine before that."

"David, you can't change who you are, and you shouldn't feel any guilt for this."

"Yeah, and mom shouldn't feel the way she does about me, but just because she shouldn't doesn't make it so." Dave stopped for a moment to keep his voice from breaking. "Regardless of what I _should_ feel, the guilt is there."

"David," Paul spoke softly and directly. "Your mom and I tried. I kept you out of conversion therapy, something she wanted. The fact that you were eighteen kept you out of getting sent away. I understand completely why you left for school and never looked back. David, I haven't seen you in over two years, not since Christmas break your first year of college. Don't think I don't know why, but also don't get the impression that I'm holding that or anything else against you. No rational person would put up with that situation."

Dave was quietly fighting tears, but it wasn't apparent in his voice. "So, you just couldn't make it work? Not even with me not being around?"

"It doesn't work that way. She couldn't love you for who you are. I couldn't love her for wanting you to be someone other than who you are. She doesn't love me because I don't share her point of view. That was only the start of things. You may have been part of the reason, the beginning of what made us realize these things, but you are not the whole reason, David. Everything that followed amounts to two people with differences that just can't be glossed over."

Silence passed. Dave inhaled as quietly as he could, trying to mask the sound of an audible sniffle. "Okay, I understand that, Dad," Dave finally spoke quietly, once again to hide his straining voice. "You know, I haven't talked to Mom since that Christmas break two years ago. If I called her, do you think that could change anything?"

"You shouldn't do that, David," Paul kept himself from sounding blatantly cautionary or pleading his cause outright. "It wouldn't change anything. What's happening with your mom and me was inevitable." It remained unspoken that he didn't want Dave talking to his mother; likewise, Dave's mother wouldn't have entertained such a conversation.

"Mm-hm," quiet, just barely detectable.

"I have something else I'd like to talk to you about," Paul began after a pause, his voice became softer, more approachable. "You're in your third year of school. You'll be finished next year, correct?"

"Barring anything unforeseen, yes," quiet still.

"I was wondering if you'd possibly consider coming back to Ohio."

"You mean, to _stay_?"

"David, I would, um, like it if there wasn't so much physical distance separating us."

Dave exhaled a labored noise. He interpreted his father's last sentence as his father's way of saying that he missed him. "Dad, I, um. Wow. My most recent memories of Ohio are not so good. The last time I was there, things with mom made the atmosphere toxic."

"But your mother wouldn't need to be part of your life, David."

Dave inhaled a wet-sounding breath. "There's more to it than that, Dad. I feel like this place is my home now. I came here knowing nothing about the place, and now I feel like I've kinda become part of it on some level, living here on my own and pretty-much taking care of myself. All my friends are here. If I went back to Ohio, I'd feel like I was starting over again in a place that wasn't exactly friendly to me before."

"I understand, David," his father was quick to answer. "Well, maybe once your schoolwork and finals are done for the spring, I can come out and visit you. Or you could come out here and stay with me for a while. I'll pay your airfare."

This wrung an uncertain smile from Dave's face as he nodded. "That actually sounds good, Dad, either one or both. I'd really like to see you."

"I want to see you too. I didn't mean to stress you or make you feel pressured into anything before, but I just wanted to ask, that's all."

"No, it's okay, Dad."

"As difficult as the news about your mom and me is, you needed to be told and I was just doing that," Paul added. "It's going to be better for both of us."

"Mm-hm."

"Well, I don't want to keep you on the phone, David," Paul spoke, sounding upbeat but forced as if forcing a smile. "If you want to talk or just want to say hello, please call. I always appreciate hearing your voice."

"Okay. Same, Dad."

"Goodbye, David."

"Bye."

Dave was still holding the phone to his ear when a tone signaled that his father had ended the call. Dave slowly lowered the phone from his ear and unsteadily lowered himself to the couch.

"Dave?" Scoop spoke softly but still jarring in the early-evening quiet of the apartment, standing at the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

"Hey," Dave uttered as he raised his head and addressed Scoop. That Dave was quietly upset was obvious.

"Um, I wasn't listening in or anything, but from what I could hear from sound of your voice in the other room, it didn't sound like a good conversation," Scoop's words were measured and self-conscious.

Dave shook his head and pitched himself forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "It wasn't a good conversation. My parents are splitting."

Scoop entered the room and sat next to Dave on the couch, placing his hand on Dave's shoulder. "Sorry to hear that."

"My dad said that it couldn't be avoided," Dave swallowed audibly.

"Is there anything I can do, man?" Scoop tilted his head, facing Dave whose eyes were focused downward into the carpet. "I mean, I know you don't talk about your folks a whole lot. I know you talk to your dad every Sunday pretty-much. You get birthday and Christmas cards from them. Other than that, I don't remember you ever saying much about your mother. I guess I just assumed that you weren't really that close with your parents. I mean, the only time I remember you even going back home to visit them was the first Christmas break from school. That was a couple of years back. That's a long time for you not to have seen them."

At this, Dave faced downward, tucked his chin to chest, and closed his eyes tightly. He inhaled, loud and wet-sounding as his mouth pulled into a pained scowl.

"Dude, are you okay?" Scoop spoke, soft but urgent,

"No, I am definitely not okay right now," Dave replied, quiet and scratchy-sounding, words forced through a thick throat.

Scoop gripped Dave's shoulder tighter in support, security, and Dave winced as if to shake him off; Scoop responded by reaching his arm further, to Dave's opposite shoulder, and pulling him tighter. Dave fought the motion futilely for a moment before succumbing to the gesture, shrugging and raising and dropping his arms, almost childlike.

"If you gotta get it outta your system, just let it out. I'm here for you, Dave. How many times have I cried on your shoulder, and about stuff that was way less important?"

Dave inhaled loudly again. Raising his chin and shaking his head slightly: a pained expression. "I never told you, but things were bad for me back in Ohio. I was outed my senior year of high school, and it was awful. I had to quit school and finish out the year going to a private tutor and taking a GED exam. My dad supported me through all of that, but my mom couldn't handle the fact that I'm gay. It was everything I could do to finish out that time in Ohio and get myself outta there. When I went back to stay with my parents that first Christmas break, I couldn't stand being at that house. My mom basically wouldn't acknowledge me, like she wanted me to choose not to be gay if I wanted to be considered as her son, which is something that I obviously can't do."

Dave's breathing seemed to regulate and his demeanor became more stable. Scoop remained silent next to him, but nodded: a gesture of understanding which Dave could detect in the periphery of his vision.

Dave's breaths were loud and deep, significantly calmer than the quicker, panicked-sounding breathing of a few minutes earlier. "You know, I honestly thought that me being all the way out here was going to be better for them, that they'd get along better without me being so close, without my presence being a reminder of the friction between them and pulling them in different directions. Those Christmas and birthday cards I get from my mom? She _never_ forgets that kinda stuff. I guess I maybe took that as a sign that, without me being physically around, they were getting along okay, like, they felt like a family again in my absence."

"I'm not a parent yet," Scoop began. "I can't imagine what anything like this feels like from that perspective. I do know that your dad calls you every Sunday night, and that you look forward to talking to him when he does. From that I'd guess that there's nothing about you that your dad disapproves of or finds disappointment with."

"I feel so bad for him."

"I know you do, man, but he probably feels a lot worse about having to tell you about the situation between him and your mom than he feels about splitting up with your mom. I mean, your parents probably tried everything to make it work. Your dad has probably come to the realization that there's no working it out. I doubt that he's happy about it, but he's probably feels at least some sense of moving forward."

Dave nodded, an exhausted expression.

"You know, Dave, maybe this will bring you and your dad closer," Scoop offered.

Dave nodded, composed but still serious. "He suggested maybe I move back to Ohio after I graduate next year."

Scoop nodded. "Do you think that's something you might want to do?"

"No. If I did it, it would be because he wanted me to do that. I mean, I'm sure I could make that work and even possibly be happy doing it, but it really wasn't anything I was planning or even a thought I was entertaining for my immediate post-college life."

"You don't hafta make that decision now, though," Scoop reminded. "A lot can change in a year."

The two sat nearly silent for a time as Dave's breathing calmed. Scoop lowered his arm to rest both forearms on his knees, a posture much the same as Dave's.

"Does this change plans for tomorrow?" Scoop asked quietly. "I mean, we could still have everyone over for dinner. Otherwise, no one knows about the talk you had planned."

"No," Dave answered, dour but purposeful. "Honestly, the sooner the better. Maybe I feel I gotta do this and move on from it the same way Dad feels like he has to move forward with his situation."

Scoop summoned a near-smile. "Well, you have until tomorrow to change your mind. You know I'm behind you a hundred percent on this." Scoop was ready to add to that statement before thinking about what he'd said and exclaiming, "Oh, geeze, that did _not_ come out right at all."

Dave 's face broke a grin.

"Dude, I am _sorry_; I'm not trying to make a joke outta this," Scoop scrambled.

Dave shook his head, sounding a quiet chuckle. "Dude, I'm _laughing_. Two minutes ago I was crying, and you just made me laugh."

Scoop stood, a slightly embarrassed expression. "You gonna make that buffalo-chicken dip tonight so you don't hafta rush around and make it tomorrow when I've got the kitchen occupied?"

"Yeah," Dave answered, slow, still a trace of a smile on his face. "But it's still early. Maybe I gotta recover a little from the emotional events of the last few minutes."

"I'm gonna go grab myself a beer. You want one?"

The laughter had left Dave's face which displayed an uncertain scowl as he looked forward to the floor, presumably in thought. "Yeah. What the hell? Grab me a beer too."

* * *

_Hello there. You've reached the voicemail of Dave Karofsky, you lucky dog. I can't take your call right now, but if you leave a message, I'll call you back as soon as I can._

John disconnected the call before the tone sounded; it had gone directly to voicemail meaning that either Dave wasn't taking calls or he had his phone powered off. Either way, it saved him from him from actually speaking to Dave and magnifying the nervous tension he felt at the situation.

And John simmered. Even Dave's outgoing voicemail message sounded adorable to him.

And he hadn't planned to call Dave. That is, until after Louis cornered him on Sunday morning after the second church service to ask him if he'd seen Dave again. It wasn't any direct persuasion on Louis' part, but the conversation did serve to kick an already confused thought process into a higher gear.

"_So, did you try giving that guy you went out with another call?"_

"_Oh, yeah," John answered. "We went out yesterday for burgers. I have you to thank for that, by the way." John's sarcasm was so slick that it was lost on Louis._

"_Oh, nice," Louis smiled, genuine. "How'd it go?"_

"_Ah, just _explosive_," John shook his head, a forced smile on his face._

_Louis smiled wider. "Fireworks then?"_

_John's face went stony. "No. Explosive as in nuclear-bomb-explosive, as in _doomsday_. End of story."_

_Louis' brow creased and his mouth fell open, aghast. "No! What happened?"_

"_I struck out, okay? One date. Three strikes. I'm out."_

"_How come?"_

"_I'm a fuckup, okay?"_

_Louis' face pained. "Ouch. I never heard you talk like that. That's not you at all."_

"_Listen: it _is_ me. You just don't _know_ me."_

"_Seriously," Louis calmed, speaking more softly, "What happened?"_

_John paused before speaking, collecting his thoughts. "I was a mess going into the damned thing. Way worse than before. I had Mandy and Katie both giving me advice, then you, more rational advice but no more usable in the hands of a fuckup like myself."_

_Louis shook his head. "What about Mandy and Katie?"_

"_Oh, Mandy wants to marry me off, somehow idealizing the monogamous gay partnership as the highest form of love. Katie just wants me to get laid, as long as she gets a graphic postgame analysis." John's voice calmed. "I can see you want me to be happy in whatever form that takes. And I appreciate it. I feel like I should be apologizing to you, though."_

"_Why?"_

"_How many seasons can you root for a losing team before you just don't care anymore."_

"_Aw, be quiet. You're not a loser! What went so wrong?"_

"_I went into it like I was looking for a boyfriend or something. Sound familiar, like advice somebody might have given me? I guess I told him I wasn't sure on what I wanted, and then I said something totally insane like I wanted a fairy-tale romance or something. _Gawd_, that must've sounded thirteen-year-old schoolgirl pathetic. Then, failing _that_, I thought I'd try for the easy roll-in-the-hay, and he turned me down."_

"_That sounds like only two strikes," Louis noted, grave; his eyes narrowing, serious._

"_Oh, yeah. I really did it up for my last strike. When I basically threw myself at him and he turned me down, I got all fucking angry, stood up, walked away, and left him there. I don't even think I said 'goodbye' or anything. I just stood up and walked. And that was after he said that he would see me again, so, even if that _was_ true when he said it, I kinda totally fucked it up by copping an 'I'm-better-than-that' attitude. Is that fucked thoroughly enough for you, Louis? Is it?"_

_Louis was silent, looking downward, avoiding eye-contact with John._

"_I feel like I made such a fool out of myself for this guy"_

"_Maybe you need to stop listening to your friends," Louis finally offered, quietly._

_John's expression became pointed. "Including _you_, the guy with all the answers?"_

"_Yes," Louis responded, louder, hands up and defensive. "Including me. If something I suggested made you do something that you now regret, I am truly sorry about that."_

_John's expression twisted further. "Oh, you think 'sorry' gets you off the hook _that_ easily?"_

_Louis lifted his head, silent, stunned expression, to meet John's face._

"_I look up to you!" John sounded nearly accusing, almost hysterical. "You're like a mentor to me in so many ways!"_

_Louis' eyes locked on John's; his face was sober, unemotional. "If my suggestion to you turned out to be bad advice, I'm really sorry about that. I'm only human. I'm not infallible. The things I told you were based on the impressions I was getting from you. It seemed like this was something you wanted. Maybe you need to figure out what it is that you want. I won't offer you any more advice, okay?"_

_With that, Louis turned and walked away leaving John standing alone in the church courtyard._

John had fucked up on Saturday where Dave was concerned. John had fucked up on Sunday with Louis. He'd never seen Louis reach the limit of his patience before; but he knew his friendship with Louis was stronger than that: ultimately it was going to be okay. Maybe he thought the same of his situation with Dave. Maybe that's why he tried to call him.

John thought about what he wanted, what he was looking for in Dave. Louis suggested that doing as much might be beneficial for him. Dave's last words to John had left the door open. John wasn't foolish enough to think that he had any greater idea what he wanted at that moment other than he was lonely and alone and thinking about Dave. In that moment, human contact with someone who made him feel good was really all he was looking for.

* * *

"You guys have the most incredible get-togethers. The food was as amazing as ever."

"Thanks Tony, but if you're referring to any of the grilled stuff, all of that credit goes to Scoop," Dave replied adding, "And Chelsea brought the mini Thai tacos."

"Those were awesome," Buke chimed as the other dinner guests, pushing occasionally-though-politely, made their way into the living room area to find seats on the furniture or the floor.

There were a number of large floor-pillows at various places around the room, and people were making themselves comfortable, falling into groups and chatting, drinking post-dinner drinks: Scoop had made some coffee and a couple of people were enjoying that option, but most of the diners could be seen with a bottle of beer in their hand or a glass of red wine. It was Wednesday, a weeknight, and the gathering was likely to disperse within the hour, but for the moment, everyone was enjoying the warm after-dinner atmosphere. A couple of the guys had broken off from the main group in the living room, making their way toward the kitchen.

Chuck and Jack pushed their way past Tony and Dave toward the door to the deck. "We're going out on the deck to..." Chuck spoke, raising his hand to his mouth in a universal gesture indicating that something would be smoked; the gesture caused Buke to follow. "Any of you other guys in?"

Dave and Tony smiled and laughed, declining the offer, as Scoop deposited some of the used plates and silverware into the sink.

"Did you have one of my burgers, Tony?" Scoop called over his shoulder in Tony and Dave's direction.

"Yep," Tony answered. "Awesome as always, but Meghan had some of that salmon you made. I snagged some of that, and it was insanely delicious."

Scoop smiled. "Thanks. That was the first time I made that honey-ginger salmon, but I think I'll be doing that again based on the reactions tonight."

"Guess we should head into the living room," Scoop suggested as he turned away from the sink. "That's where everyone else is."

At the suggestion, Dave, Tony, and a few other people who were scattered in the immediate area slowly filed into the living room, mixing and finding places with the people who were casually convened into loose groups.

Music was playing at a comfortable background volume. Tony lowered himself to the floor in the vicinity of Zack, Robbie, and Ronk. Zack and Robbie were members of the band which Scoop managed, Zack being lead singer and guitarist while Robbie played lead guitar; Ronk was their soundman who'd also built a reputation as a DJ, sometimes spinning music between the bands' sets. Tony was the band's drummer, and Chuck, presently outside on the deck with friends Jack and Buke, was the band's bassist.

At the opposite side of the room, beginning at the far side of the couch, were Chelsea, Meghan, Shelly, and Emily: Chelsea, Meghan, and Shelly were the girlfriends of Chuck, Tony, and Ronk respectively whereas Emily, currently single, had previously dated Scoop and Jack at different times.

"You still going through with this?" Scoop mumbled over Dave's shoulder as they stood to one side of the livingroom, near the entranceway.

"Yep."

"You just gonna, like, jump right in?"

Dave chuckled and turned to address the concern in Scoop's eyes. "Yeah, pretty-much, but I wanted to wait until Jack, Buke, and Chuck came back inside from their toke-fest."

"You don't seem nervous."

"I can't be nervous about this. Even if I am, I don't want to be. It's not like these are the first people I've come out to, but, yeah, it's the first time in front of a group like this." Dave looked again at Scoop. "Dude, you look more nervous than I feel. Just mellow-out. Everything's gonna be okay."

Scoop nodded, wordless as Buke, Chuck, and Jack stepped slowly, jerky and self-conscious, into the living room. Chelsea stood from her seat on the couch and pulled Chuck downward into the space she'd occupied, taking a seat on his lap and flapping her hands playfully against his head as he responded with a confused laugh. Jack and Buke sat, almost dropped themselves actually, onto the floor centrally between the two groups.

"Everyone have a good dinner?" Dave spoke from his side of the room, clearly but perhaps not quite loudly enough to avoid it from being partially absorbed into the background music. He reached for the remote control and lowered the volume level on the stereo. While doing so he heard some of the guests voicing affirmative responses to his question. Dave faced the room again and nodded, a pleasant expression: approachable, on the edge of a smile. Scoop stood within arm's reach beside him.

"You people have been my friends, most of you at least, for almost the whole time I've been in Portland, which is almost exactly two-and-a-half years," Dave began, and in doing so, realized that he had everyone's attention, though divided it might have been in some cases as Chuck made goofy faces at Chelsea, Ronk appeared to be occupied with his phone, and, though facing toward Dave, Jack's mind seemed to be focused elsewhere. "Everyone here is somebody that I consider to be my friend, in some cases, best friends; and I want to get something clear in case anyone should be wondering about me and some of the people that I have brought around in the past or people that I might be hanging with in the future. I'm gay, and I hope that doesn't change the way any of you feel about me or the way that any of you relate to me."

Other than the murmuring sounds coming from the hushed stereo system, the room was quiet, wordless. Dave didn't move but let his eyes scan the room, face-to-face. Some appeared stunned, some appeared unaffected. The moment felt absurdly long.

"Um, uh," Jack began, "does that mean that, like, you and Scoop are, like, _together_?"

Dave rolled his eyes, feeling near relief, almost breaking a smile as Scoop's eyes widened on the suggestion.

"I mean, it's cool if you are and everything," Jack continued.

Dave shook his head. "Nah, Scoop and I are just roommates. Nothing else going on there."

"Fuckin' _shit_," Emily almost yelled, a sour expression. "Isn't anyone around here _normal_ anymore? You people all gotta be some kinda freak?"

"Whoa, that's rich," Zack called from the other side of the room, "the chick with tats up both arms and pierced, studded lips is calling someone a freak just because of who he wants to sleep with?" Robbie, who was seated beside Zack, had become wide-eyed, and a confused, nearly frantic expression overtook his face.

"Hey, shut up," Emily shot back in Zack's direction, "this isn't about you."

"No?" Zack countered. "Dave's my friend, so I think it is about me. I think it's kinda about anyone who's friends with us, and I thought you were our friend too."

"This ain't cool, man," Chuck sat up from his slumped position on the couch, almost pushing Chelsea from his lap. "Dave, man, what the fuck?"

Dave opened his mouth to answer, but Scoop spoke first. "What do you mean, Chuck?"

"I mean," Chuck paused, gathering his hazy thoughts, "dudes with other dudes is just fucked-up."

"Oh, and it's okay for you to watch girl-on-girl porn like you do all the time?" Buke shot back to Chuck with a sarcastic grin.

"Fuck off, Buke," Chuck spoke, sounding unaffected by the revelation, "what I do on my own time is no one's business but mine."

"And who Dave chooses to date or sleep with is no one's business but his," Tony spoke, confident, at a conversational level.

"Hey, I wasn't brought up to believe that two dudes together is okay," Chuck was slowly rising from the couch as his voice increased in volume.

"And you were brought up to think that chick-on-chick porn is cool?" Buke reminded again.

Chelsea rolled her eyes, annoyed, "Yeah, he has that stuff on the TV while we're in bed."

"Hey!" Chuck protested, loud, "You're not supposed to mention that!"

"Well, I guess his trust-fund supplyin', CEO dad who's on trophy wife number two would be okay with chick-on-chick porn, but would he approve of his kid smoking weed like there's no tomorrow?" Zack queried.

"Hey, keep my dad outta this!"

Chelsea's expression, which seemed to mask a simmering rage for a minute, exploded along with her voice. "Dammit, Chuck, you brought your dad into this by giving some lame excuse about the way you were brought up when this is really just another case of your spoiled-rich-kid, need-to-control-shit-even-when-you-can't-buy-someo ne-off, life-of-privilege bullshit."

"Stay outta this, Chelsea!" Chuck shot back.

Both he and Chelsea were standing, and she was backing him toward the hallway with an occasional shove as she began to deliver a rapid-fire, unintelligible string of words and verbal attacks. He occasionally yelled her name in an attempt to drown her out.

"I'm outta this freakshow," Emily exclaimed as she stood from her chair, gulped her wine glass empty, and stomped toward the door.

"You sure you wanna leave?" Scoop called to Emily futilely; Emily turned and flipped Scoop the middle-finger before walking through the apartment door and slamming it behind her.

Scoop turned to Dave, worried; Dave faced downward, his face displaying a hint of a smirk before he raised his hand, covering his mouth. Chelsea's voice, now distant, originating muffled from somewhere down the hallway, possibly in the bathroom, was more frantic than before, accentuated regularly with shouts of her name from a cornered Chuck.

"Dave," Zack's voice snagged Dave's attention and caused him to raise his head.

"Zack?" Dave replied.

Zack held out his right hand, offering it to Dave. Dave took it as Zack held and shook firmly.

"I'm cool with you, man," Zack spoke, "changes nothing."

"Thanks," Dave smiled and almost laughed nervously though he was warmed by the gesture while shouts continued to be heard from the hallway.

"Chuck's an ass, and Emily's a fuckup," Zack continued. "You're okay."

"Hey, Dave," Tony approached with Meghan by his side; like Zack, Tony offered his right hand and Dave took it. "That couldn't have been easy, dude, but you're the same guy you were ten minutes ago, and you're alright by me."

"Thanks, Tony, it means a lot coming from all of you who are alright with this."

With that, Tony raised both of their hands and thumped them against his chest, a gesture of solidarity among friends.

When Tony dropped his grip on Dave's hand, Meghan approached and reached upward to hug Dave.

"Dave," Meghan whined, just over a whisper into Dave's ear. "Like Tony said, that couldn't have been easy." With that, she turned and kissed Dave's cheek, bringing an immediate smile to his face. As she dropped her hold, Meghan addressed Dave's face straight-on. "We care about you Dave. If you need anything or need to talk to anyone, we're here for you."

Dave smiled again, wider this time. "Thank you. That means so much."

"Heh-hey!" Buke interjected as he, Jack, Ronk, and Shelly approached, Ronk's arm locked around Shelly's. "Got nothing to worry about with me, Dave," Buke continued, "I can't speak for anyone else, but..."

"Nah, Dave's cool," Jack interrupted. "How many times has he saved me from getting my ass kicked because I got too fucked up and tried to pick a fight with someone."

Dave snickered. "That's 'cause we're friends, man. That's what friends do."

"Yeah, friends are also supposed to accept of each other for who they are," Buke added, sarcastically, nodding over his shoulder in the direction of Chelsea's and Chuck's shouting match, still very apparent.

"Aw, he can go fuck off for all I care," Zack spoke. "This is just so typical of his bullshit. He starts shit like this at practice if some small, insignificant thing doesn't go his way, and there's always a Chuck shouting-match followed by a period of pouting before we can pretend that things are normal again."

Tony laughed in agreement. "Maybe if he gets all of his screamin' and whining out of his system tonight, we might actually have a melodrama-free practice tomorrow."

Zack nodded and chuckled.

The shouting ceased and the gathering turned their attention to the hallway to see Chuck, red-faced and angry-looking, emerge, stomp toward the door, and let himself outside, leaving the door ajar, never facing the remainder of the group during his exit. Chelsea followed, turned her head toward the door momentarily, but kept walking toward Dave and the other guests.

"He and I are going to have a serious talk about this on the way home," Chelsea snapped, pointed, as she leered toward the door for a moment before addressing Dave directly.

"Really?" Dave spoke quietly, "You'd do that for me?"

"Definitely," Chelsea said with icy defiance in her tone. She reached upward to give Dave a peck on the cheek and a smile. "I'm sorry about Chuck. He'll be better-behaved next time." Chelsea backed away to address the rest of the room. "Have a good night, everyone." With that, Chelsea, with an unexpected grace and poise, exited the apartment in the direction from which Chuck had left moments before.

"Dude," Ronk said from where he stood, clutching a ceramic mug of coffee, "Hey Karofsky, whatever makes you happy, cheers!" With that he drained his cup of coffee and widened his stance. "Seriously? I've DJ-ed enough crazy, chemically-fueled events to know that guy-on-guy sex is one of the more normal things I'm ever likely to see."

This caused Dave to laugh aloud, "Man, I really don't wanna know," and Shelly's reaction was to punch Ronk playfully in the chest.

"Seriously, though," Ronk continued, "I'm into girls, but there's nothing wrong with a dude who digs guys."

"Thanks, Ronk," Dave responded. "Out of all these people, I kinda just barely know you and Shelly."

"Makes no difference: right is right," Ronk answered as he shook Dave's hand and Shelly reached around to pat Dave's shoulder.

"So, like, I gotta ask," Buke spoke as Shelly lowered her arm from Dave's shoulder.

Dave turned his head, bemused, "Yeah, Buke?"

"So, when you say _gay_, um, you don't act like what I think of as gay. Because you, like, play basketball, and you like watching dumb action movies, and you'd have seemed kinda out-of-place in that huge crowd when I was working security last time Gaga was in town. I mean, you come off like you're a regular dude. Is that all a cover or something?"

Dave gave Buke a sidelong glance accompanied with a sarcastic grin. "Guys, it's still me. There's no cover. I am who I am. Just because I'm into dudes doesn't mean I'm going to all of a sudden become this guy you've never known before."

Zack nodded at Dave. "That's true. I mean, I look at you and it doesn't exactly fit with the profile of any of the gay guys I've ever known in PDX. _Will and Grace_ and that show about those dancing, singing high school kids didn't prepare me for this really, but maybe that's a good thing. Hey! Think we can use this for song material maybe?"

Dave shook his head. "I'd rather you not," he spoke dryly but with the humor to assume that it was a joke.

"Are you gonna stop throwing these kickass food shindigs?"

"No," Scoop and Dave answered in unison.

Zack shrugged. "Then I got nothin' to complain about. Hey, and I think I might know a guy that's perfect for you."

Dave waved his hand. "Nah, that's alright. I'm not lookin' for anything serious right now." Truthfully, the thought of his friends trying to play matchmaker for him made him uneasy.

"Hey, what happened to Robbie?" Scoop spoke, craning his head around.

"I think he kinda slipped out when the Chuck-storm happened," Tony offered.

"Huh?" Zack spoke, confused. "He was sitting right beside me when Dave was talking."

"Yeah, and you didn't see the look on his face," Jack interjected. "Looked like he was totally weirded out by everything. Wouldn't be surprised if he just snuck out when he found a window of opportunity."

"Well, it certainly changed the atmosphere here," Dave spoke, "but I felt I needed to get that all out in front of you people."

"At least it didn't cast some kinda gloomy pall over the evening," Tony expanded.

"Well, school night for me tonight," Meghan spoke, nudging Tony.

"Yeah, me too," Tony seconded and the others nodded and mumbled in agreement.

"We should probably get on our way also," Ronk said as he pulled Shelly close to him and both motioned their eyes toward the door.

"Well, thank you all for coming over and being cool about everything," Dave spoke, expressing gratitude without sounding excessive.

"Well, you did it the right way," Buke snarked, "Lure us over here with food and we'd be cool with anything."

"I'll remember that," Dave snarked in return, pointing and smiling.

"Hey, the weekend's comin' up," Zack reminded, turning back toward Dave and Scoop as he walked toward the door. "We'll hafta go hang out. Get trashed. Celebrate."

Dave's face puzzed. "Celebrate? Celebrate _what_?"

Zack's face drew blank as the entire room seemed to stop and listen, waiting for his response. "Um, celebrate you being you and us being who we are and, uh, I dunno, watching Chuck get his ass handed to him by Chelsea?"

The room fell into laughter and a few stray claps for a moment.

"You guys really don't like Chuck, I guess," Dave commented, slightly wary.

"He's a decent bass player," Tony answered.

"But what you saw here tonight is pretty commonplace," Zack completed Tony's statement as he slid the zipper on his hoodie upward toward his neck, "except that we rarely get the luxury of watching him storm out of the place like a man-child having a temper-tantrum."

"Yeah, it was kinda exquisite," Tony agreed, smirking and nodding.

The guests filed out of the flat, a few at a time; a few of the farewells were lengthy though unnecessarily so: anything that merited being said had already been spoken. In less than twenty minutes, Dave and Scoop found themselves standing in the vacated living room, surveying the scene of scattered pillows and empty bottles, glasses, and mugs.

"Well, looks like we have some cleaning up to do," Dave spoke after a span of silence, accompanied by the sound still softly-bubbling from the stereo.

"Hey, man," Scoop reached his hand to Dave's shoulder in support, "I'm sorry I didn't talk more, just that I was kinda stunned silent when all that stuff started to happen."

"It's okay," Dave reassured. "You spoke up when it was important, and I appreciated all of it."

Scoop exhaled, heavy. "Sorry that was such a fiasco."

Dave's face wrinkled as he half-grinned. "What are you talking about? That went way better than I thought it would."

"Really?"

Dave shook his head, still partially smiling. "Yeah, I mean, compare the ratio to what happened to me in high school, and I did way better tonight with these people. Heck, this was better than the way my parents took it, proportionately speaking. I'd say it was a success."

Scoop finally smiled, an expression that mixed relief with slight disbelief. "That's cool. I guess most of the people here, um, were okay..." Scoop's voice trailed off into a mumble momentarily. "Chuck's an ass," He finally said, speaking clearly.

Dave snickered, picking a handful of pillows up from the floor and placing them on the couch. "Zack and Tony said that was pretty normal behavior for him."

"Yeah," Scoop agreed, gathering glasses and mugs into his hands. "Rest of the guys in the band are pretty mellow. When Chuck doesn't get his way, though, he blows up and mopes."

"What about that Emily chick?" Dave reminded.

"Dah, she's just a psycho," Scoop replied.

"You went out with her," Dave spoke through a laugh.

"Yeah, that makes me qualified to judge her bat-shit craziness," Scoop reacted with authority. "Y'know," Scoop spoke, sounding somewhat thoughtful, "It was actually kinda cool to listen to Chelsea verbally ream Chuck's ass."

"Chel-SEEE!" Dave mocked Chuck's earlier behavior causing Scoop to succumb to a fit of laughter.

"Don't do that while I got breakables in my hands," Scoop pleaded jokingly between breaths.

* * *

Dave returned from his Thursday classes in the early evening. As he unlocked and opened the door to his apartment, he was surprised to find Scoop at home, sitting on the livingroom couch with his laptop opened and studying the screen with an expression of intensity (although, in all honestly, Scoop wore that same expression of extreme concentration whether he was doing research, studying for an exam, or watching a viral prank video).

"Hey, Scoop," Dave greeted, an air of confusion in his delivery. "I thought you'd be hanging with the band. It's practice night, right?"

Scoop raised his head from his screen wearing a comically asymmetrical half-smile. "No practice tonight. No bass player."

"What?" Dave asked, sitting in the chair near the couch.

Scoop snickered and his grin turned almost smug. "Chelsea kicked Chuck out last night, said she was fed-up with his crap. He called Tony to see if he could crash with him for a few days; Tony said no. He called Zack who laughed in his face. Chuck ended up crashing at Robbie's place last night, and Robbie reported back to the other guys saying that Chuck wouldn't stop bellyaching about how his girlfriend and his best friends let him down. So, depending upon whose story you hear, Chuck was either kicked out of Omnivore, or he quit Omnivore. Either way, it leaves Omnivore without a bassist."

"Holy shit," Dave mumbled. "All that because of me coming out to everyone last night?"

Scoop shook his head, facing the laptop screen but focusing on nothing in particular. "No, Dave. If Chuck was really friends with those guys, this wouldn't have happened. Whatever happened between Chelsea and Chuck goes way deeper than anything that happened last night, and what happened between Chuck and the rest of the band has been brewing for months. Last night might have brought everything to critical mass, but if it hadn't happened last night, it wouldn't have been long before it did. Believe me, neither Zack nor Tony are losing sleep over this, and it's just a matter of time before Robbie gets just as fed-up with him."

"Crap," Dave voiced, facing forward.

"And in case you were worried about Chuck, don't be," Scoop added, brighter. "He'll just hit his dad up like he always does, and he'll have a new apartment in no time. This just caught him off-guard." Scoop paused a moment before adding, "And it's a damned good thing this happened now rather than when we're in the middle of Europe or something. Could you imagine that: us being on the road in some foreign country and Chuck throws a hissy-fit and quits the band?"

"Oh, shit," Dave spoke as if snapping out of a torpor. "What are you guys gonna do about those shows in Germany? You guys were all so psyched about that."

"Dave, mellow-out," Scoop spoke calmly, attempting to placate Dave's sudden disturbance. "We have a few months to find a replacement. I've hung out with bands for years, and this kinda thing happens all the time. Everyone thinks that bands are, like, _forever_ until you actually work with one. Then you realize that it's more like whoever happens to be in the room at the time is the band. I'm putting out ads, that's what I was doing when you came in. I figure, since the band is established, we shouldn't have too much trouble finding a replacement, even if it's temporary. We'll still be able to do the European dates. I mean, there are a ton of competent musicians who would happily tag along with a band to spend a few weeks abroad, hang out, and make contacts."

"I hope you're right," Dave spoke, sounding somewhat unconvinced.

"Zack and Tony are out hitting the clubs and bars tonight, probably as we speak, getting the word out that they need a bassist," Scoop informed as he turned back to his laptop screen.

"Uh-oh," Dave sounded mock-cautionary, "Are you sure they're actually looking for a bassist and not just out getting drunk?"

Scoop broke into a loud, choking laugh, and Dave followed likewise after a few moments. "You know us too well, Dave," Scoop managed to choke out between breaths and chuckles.

Scoop's laughter subsided, and he leaned against the back of the couch, winded from the moment's merriment. "You know, I was thinking," he began, addressing Dave with an exhausted smile on his face. "You remember last night when Jack asked if you and I were, like, a couple?"

"Yeah," Dave chuckled, exhausted as well.

"I was thinking that if someone thought that about me and you, it really wouldn't bother me if they did."

Dave's expression moved slightly from the remainder of laughter to a smile of near admiration. "Really?"

Scoop smiled and shook his head. "Nah, if someone assumed that you and I were together, it wouldn't bother me at all. Unless, of course, it was some hot chick whose pants I'd been trying to get into. Then it might bug me if she thought I was gay and taken."

Dave let out a hearty guffaw. "Scoop, you are incorrigible."

"You wouldn't have me any other way, Karofsky."

Dave exhaled loudly as he stood slowly from the chair. "Well, I'm gonna make some coffee because there's a fair amount of stuff I wanna get done tonight."

"Oh yeah, what are you up to?"

"Ah, just some school work and checking a few things online, looking at possible internships for the summer, stuff like that," Dave answered. "You want any coffee?"

"Nah, none for me," Scoop replied. "That'll just make me jittery, and I have no reason to be up late."

"Never stopped you before," Dave answered, muffled from the kitchen.

"Yeah," Scoop returned, a mock-agitated tone of voice, "and since when did anything ever prevent you from going to sleep?"

"Well, then, I guess we cancel each other out."

After some minutes in the kitchen, Dave retired to his bedroom, a large, insulated travel-mug of coffee in his hand. He booted his laptop and sat at his desk. As he had told Scoop, Dave planned to check ads for potential summer internships, and he did a small amount of school work to complete including a reading assignment. The first thing he did once seated, however, was something he hadn't done in months: he looked up some online dating sites and considered the various options.

* * *

John saved the current document to his fan-fiction folder although he hadn't written a damned thing. This was, it crossed his mind, the writing he did about which he declined to tell Dave when he was asked on their coffee-date, now almost two weeks ago. Fan-fiction. It just felt too lame to qualify as writing.

John kept his laptop open as he turned to the easel, the painting which he'd been working on half-complete. He reached downward and took a few tubes of paint into his hands, but the thought of working on it now didn't appeal to him: somehow it seemed too much work to unscrew the caps, dispense blobs of paint onto his palette, and brush smears of them onto the canvas. Besides, he knew he wouldn't be happy with anything he did right now. He'd reached a point where even his chosen methods of introspective expression and spiritual liberation would offer him no solace.

He knew he was craving human contact. He returned his attention to his laptop and muted the redundant pop-diva music which was gurgling from it. That wasn't working for him either; it was only serving to intensify his already-pronounced feeling of involuntary solitude.

Almost by routine, he clicked on the final tab in which he was logged onto bearhunter. He had a couple of messages from silverfox54 and rustycub93, but nothing he wanted to answer. He grimaced as he looked at a couple of pictures from silverfox, the more appealing of the two choices, and just shook his head with a sigh, then almost a laugh: the realization that someone like himself, someone so desiring of human interaction, could be particular while in his current state was curiously droll.

He felt a little dead on the inside. He knew what he should have done. He shouldn't have been so neurotic where Dave was concerned, he should have had some idea of what he wanted, and he shouldn't have let his hang-ups keep him from living. John rummaged around in his pocket for his cell phone and went to his contact list.

Dave's number: he felt the weight of the phone in his hand and felt the sudden urge to throw it against the wall. Dark feelings spread through him: rage at himself, desperation, isolation. He returned his eyes to bearhunter to see who was new. Maybe there would be...

He gasped.

John quickly deleted his account, glad he hadn't uploaded any photos. He backed away from the screen and left the room, still holding his phone, into the one area of the loft where there were windows. He opened a window to feel a cool breeze in an increasingly warm room. He kept starting a text to Dave, but couldn't finish it. Couldn't send it.

Dave had gone to bearhunter, an account not even a day old. His clouded thoughts failed the ability to rationalize that Dave owed him nothing: he felt at once the victim of loss and betrayal.


	5. The Chase is Better Than the Catch

**Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.**

**The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.**

**Thank you.**

**The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series _Glee_.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 13,500**

* * *

Text of personal ad posted to bearhunter by username titanK:

**Transplant from the Sartrean Hell that is Ohio and really liking it here in Portland**

_21 year old college student here. Basically an average guy into average guy things who just happens to be gay. Into sports, both watching and playing, video games, movies, and live music, prefer rock bands over club music, but it's all good. Mostly I'm looking to make friends with some people or a group of people but I'm open to greater possibilities. Kind of athletic so workout or running friends would be great. Pretty laid-back here, so hit me up to say hello and we'll go from there._

* * *

Dave hadn't dated much, though he was not a stranger to the process of meeting people online. In the immediate period following his move to Portland two-and-a-half years ago, he'd spent a not-insignificant amount of time chatting and emailing people on the various dating sites. He was too young to go to the bars and still too introverted on that particular level; but the personals sites gave him a sense of privacy, and his secretive habits were never questioned by his then-new roommate.

After a few months of sharing a dorm room, however, Dave and Scoop began to associate with increasing frequency. Dave found that he preferred the social and friendly real-time activities with his roommate and his other new friends to the world of late-night cyber-chatting, a world where the people which he was meeting could be walking distance from his dorm physically but may as well have been hundreds of miles away. Otherwise, he related to the interests of Scoop and his increasing number of tangible friends more than anyone he'd chatted with online.

Dave was interested in physically meeting people, though not necessarily for sex, but that happened also. During his first few months in college, the people with whom Dave chatted online fell roughly into three categories: the first were young men ranging in age from his own to about ten years his senior who seemed to be of approximately the same temperament as Dave but were content to communicate exclusively through their laptops and cell phones; the second group included men who were somewhat older than Dave who chatted politely enough but seemed evasive when pressed to actually meet, citing Dave's young age and that they themselves felt, as they put it, relationship-oriented; and, finally, men who aged into their forties and fifties and posted pictures of their body parts (if they posted pictures at all), often claiming to be bi-curious, married, or both. Needless to say, few meetings resulted. The ones that did were usually one-time meetings, affording Dave an amount of physical exploration, though it was sometimes clumsy, particularly if the other party was as inexperienced as Dave. There were a few meetings with men who claimed to be in their forties who, upon meeting, revealed themselves to be more likely aged into their sixties: these meetings never progressed beyond a verbal greeting and dismissal with Dave being as polite as he could possibly be given the circumstances.

Though Dave continued to check the personals sites periodically, his interest in them waning at times and increasing at others, his attitude became one of ambivalence: he wanted genuine interaction with other gay men but he didn't want the hassle that seemed to be attached to the dating sites. He understood that methods of meeting people existed outside the online universe, but he'd found a complacency in the privacy there. He generally updated his profiles when his interest in using the sites renewed, and he had become more comfortable with the routine despite his sporadic use. He had, during his later times on the sites, chatted with a few genuine men who were fifteen to twenty-five years his senior. Though no meetings with these men resulted, the ongoing chats helped Dave to feel assimilated into the community to a greater degree.

Dave was twenty years old when his visits to dating sites yielded what he'd consider to be his first actual date, that is, one which would include more than a groping session in a parked car or a quick and mutually-clumsy fuck in a darkened apartment. Not surprisingly, that first date didn't result in a second date. Much like his time in Lima, Dave found himself ill-matched with the young men he met; unlike Lima, however, he wasn't outwardly frustrated by this: the men he'd met here were generally easier for him to talk with than those he knew in Ohio, or possibly Dave's uptight nature had mellowed since his move to Portland.

As time progressed, there were a few men with whom Dave had actually met more than once. Most recently, Mark, another college student he'd met the previous fall. Dave and Mark went out a total of five times during a three-week period, even hanging with Scoop and some of Dave's other friends on two occasions. After that fifth date, however, neither Dave nor Mark had an interest in proposing a sixth date, and, other than the occasional email of a link to a viral video or the click of the 'like' toggle on a Facebook posting, their communication ceased.

By this present time, however, Dave knew the drill. His expectations weren't high, but he wasn't hostile to the process either: a strange kind of optimistic indifference. It was during this time that he had informally met a few men around his own age for coffee and drinks (now being twenty-one, he could legally visit bars). The meetings were friendly. In one case, with a boisterous, scruffy twenty-three-year-old named Garrett, a great deal of rowdy fun. In all cases, the doors were left open for future meetings, and Dave was enjoying a greater sense of belonging. In the two weeks since the dinner get-together with his friends, Dave's focus had shifted. Though he'd updated his online profiles and posted an ad on bearhunter, the bars were becoming a more attractive option for Dave as they offered direct, face-to-face interaction with others, though there were other reasons why he was drawn toward a change of routine.

He felt some degree of concern and responsibility for Chuck's departure from the band which his roommate was managing, despite Scoop's statements to the contrary that Dave was faultless in the matter. The two times he'd spoken to his father since being informed of the probable dissolution of his parents' marriage were marked with an uncertainty, as if the terrain of their relationship was no longer completely familiar. The wanting to be anonymous, in a place other than his apartment, the place where these things became manifest, was a constant.

It was the Wednesday night, specifically two weeks after the dinner gathering, when Dave came home to his apartment in the early-evening after his classes. Dave entered the darkening apartment quietly through the deck entrance. He could see that Scoop was sitting in front of the TV in the livingroom. Dave tried to move through the apartment without arousing Scoop's attention, but he heard Scoop call out his name while he was quietly striding through the kitchen.

"Dave?"

"Hey, Scoop," Dave answered softly as he entered the livingroom from the kitchen area.

"Where have you been keeping yourself?" Scoop asked with a tone of cocky friendliness. "Geeze, we share an apartment, and I've barely seen you in the past week."

"Just been kinda into getting out of the place lately," Dave answered, sounding somewhat unconvincing. "Y'know, kinda putting myself out there, trying to meet some new people."

"Well, between you being holed-up in your room late at night and going out weird hours, the _old_ people in your life kinda miss you," Scoop reminded. "You been going to leather-bars or something?" Scoop added with a joking chuckle at the last.

Dave chuckled himself and shook his head.

"Seriously, Dave, the guys miss you."

Dave sat down on the edge of the couch, a fair distance from Scoop, dropping his bookbag and gymbag to the floor. "Yeah, and I don't feel so good about hanging out because I feel like I screwed up their band situation. How's the hunt for a replacement bass player coming along?"

Scoop let out a long breath and rolled his eyes. "Chuck's been talking up a storm saying that the other guys are hell to work with. So, like, the only people who seem to be interested are either not good players or not a good match for the band."

"That doesn't make me feel any better at all."

"Dude, those guys hold nothing against you," Scoop sat up and moved slightly closer to Dave. "They consider you to be a really good friend."

"Yeah, in essence they've chosen friendship with me over their band, except for Robbie who never weighed in on the matter," Dave spoke, sounding grave. "That doesn't exactly make me feel good either."

"Dave, don't sweat it, man. We'll find a replacement for Chuck." Scoop reached his hand up and patted Dave's shoulder roughly as Dave moved to stand from the couch. "Hey, where you going?"

"Uh," Dave sputtered his answer. "I was just gonna drop my stuff in my room and, uh, check my homework and stuff."

"Not so fast," Scoop spoke with a smirk. "Me and the guys are hanging out tonight at the Tap Room. They told me that I was to get to to come along and hang out with us tonight by any means necessary."

"Uhh," Dave groaned, an expression of mock-pain.

"Oh, c'mon. They wanna see you. You know you wanna hang with your friends too."

"Who all is going to be there?"

Scoop shrugged, facing outward then craning his head upward to address Dave. "The usual guys. Zack, Tony, Buke, Jack. Probably some of the girls also."

Dave hummed, sounding and appearing uncertain.

"Aw, c'mon," Scoop mock-pleaded. "The guys have been asking about you."

"Awright, I'll go," Dave said after exhaling loudly. "But we're both driving in case I want to leave early or something."

"No problem," Scoop spoke quickly, accommodating.

"Which means you can't get trashed," Dave reminded. "You gonna be able to handle that?"

"Dave, we live two miles from the place. If I get trashed, one of the guys can ride me back here tonight and I can go get my car tomorrow." Scoop paused momentarily. "I mean, that's not gonna happen, I won't drink much tonight, but in case I _do_, I'm covered."

Dave nodded, reluctant. "Okay. What time should I be ready to head out then?"

"It's not seven yet. We can get moving around nine, nine-thirty. No one will be there before that."

"Okay, then, let me collect my stuff and look at my schoolwork. I'll be ready around nine."

Dave lifted his bags from the floor and took them to his bedroom, entering and closing the door behind himself. He unzipped his gymbag and pulled the clothes from it, depositing them into a laundry-basket which was half-filled with items to be laundered. As he reached toward his book bag, his phone rang.

The words _number not available_ illuminated on the screen as his face took on a slightly annoyed expression.

"Hello," Dave voiced, almost sternly into the phone.

"Hello, Dave?"

"Speaking."

"Hey, um, it's John from a few weeks ago. You remember? Pretty catastrophic burger date?"

"Yeah, of course I remember," Dave sounded abrupt, but he was trying to be nominally polite, hiding his annoyance with a fair proficiency. "And it really wasn't all that bad."

"I think it was, but it's nice of you to say that."

"What can I do for you, John?" The tone was as abrupt as it had been, and the annoyance was starting to surface.

"Uh, wow. Um, I'm between projects, you know, editing stuff, and I have a free night tonight, and I was wondering if maybe you'd want to meet me for a drink or coffee or something."

Dave exhaled, sounding like pressure was being released. "Ah, that sounds _okay_, but I already have plans tonight to hang out with some friends."

"Oh. Okay."

"But I _did_ mean what I said last time we hung out. I'd be cool with hanging with you again, just that I already have something going on tonight."

"No, it's cool. Maybe another time then."

"Yeah. Take it easy, John."

"Bye. Have a good one, Dave."

The call ended, and Dave shook his head and shrugged, staring at his phone as the screen dimmed. _Voice from the past_, Dave thought; he really didn't think he'd be hearing from John again.

* * *

_That was easier than I'd expected_, John thought to himself as he ended the call. It had been almost three weeks since he'd seen Dave, and it must have seemed strange to call him out-of-the-blue like he did; but Dave didn't seem hostile to the phone call or against the idea of seeing him again, even repeating what he'd said before they parted that day, that he was open to meeting again.

Although Dave didn't take him up on his offer this evening, he felt the prospects of seeing him again weren't quite as hopeless as he'd imagined. And, despite Dave's not being available, John felt positive about the outcome, even accomplished, that he'd actually called Dave, asked him out, and was able to remain generally polite and coherent, and all this without the encouragement of Mandy, Katie, or Louis.

_Mostly I'm looking to make friends with some people or a group of people but I'm open to greater possibilities._

The sentence from Dave's online profile was an approach that seemed worthwhile and one which John had not previously entertained, at least not consciously.

Faced with a night off and no plans, however, and little desire to work on his writing, painting, or gaming interests at the moment, John decided that he would venture out by himself, have a drink or two, and quietly celebrate the completion of the editing project he'd just finished.

* * *

_Nobody knows  
__I know nobody cares what goes on in here  
__We have this door  
__Nobody gets in until I'm double-sure_

The sound coming from the jukebox in the Tap Room wasn't particularly loud, but a speaker situated just above Dave's left shoulder as he sat at the bar was serving to rattle his already uncertain nerves. Scoop stood nearby, facing away from the bar, an arm's length from Dave. He was watching for their friends as they arrived.

The bar itself had a healthy-sized crowd for so small a bar on an off-night, and it was a popular hangout for some of the older college students who preferred the atmosphere of a somewhat slovenly haunt; or as Scoop once described the place to Dave, "It's a dive, but it's a cool dive."

Tony was the first to arrive, only minutes after Dave and Scoop. He greeted Scoop and took the seat at the bar next to Dave.

"Hey, Dave," Tony pronounced, loud and friendly-sounding as he seated himself. "How've you been? It's been a while."

"Hey, Tony," Dave responded, pleasant but less-enthusiastic than Tony's greeting. "I've been okay, just getting stuff done for school and concentrating on that end of my life."

"Yeah, well, I guess with the band on hold, there's not been a lot going on with the rest of us either," Tony said casually, "just basically, yeah, school, and looking for a new bass player."

Dave nodded, downward toward the surface of the bar, lifting his bottle of beer, taking a drink and holding it close to himself, reminded again of the responsibility he felt at Chuck's departure.

The bartender brought Tony's beer; Tony seemed oblivious to Dave's physical response remaining casual and upbeat.

Ronk and Shelly filtered into the bar, sighting Scoop first as he waved his arms, flagging them down. Ronk hugged Scoop roughly as Shelly watched and laughed, greeting Scoop in the process.

"I don't know that Ronk guy very well," Dave said to Tony as he observed, "but he seems like a pretty cool guy."

"Oh, he is," Tony responded. "He's a lot of fun, and he's an incredible soundman. Sometimes I think we owe half of our following to him because he always has us sounding so good."

By this time, Ronk and Shelly were approaching the bar; Ronk dived upon Tony grasping him in a manner similar to that with which he'd greeted Scoop. When they unlocked, Ronk turned to Dave, shaking his hand firmly and patting him on the shoulder with his free hand.

"Hey, Dave. Good to see you."

Dave nodded, summoning a smile. "Thanks. Good to see you as well. Hi, Shelly." Dave tilted his head, addressing Ronk's girlfriend who waved and smiled in return.

Dave mentally noted the less-physical, less-jovial manner in which Ronk greeted him. Although he felt slightly left-out, he reasoned that, as he'd said to Tony moments earlier, he really didn't know Ronk well; they were really only acquaintances. Still, he felt a friendliness to Ronk for the kind words and the supportive way he reacted to Dave at the dinner gathering two weeks earlier.

Ronk and Shelly returned to the the area where Scoop was standing, still nearby but migrating slightly toward the center of the room leaving Dave and Tony at the bar.

"So, is Meghan coming tonight?" Dave asked Tony.

"Naw, I was hanging with her and some of her friends earlier, but she has early classes tomorrow so she didn't want to be out late," Tony answered. "How's school coming along for you?"

"Pretty good," Dave answered, suddenly more animated and comfortable with Tony's question. "I have some big assignments, but I have a handle on that stuff so it shouldn't be a problem. How about you?"

"Well, with the band not working right now, yeah, I can concentrate on school a little more. Probably better than partying five nights a week anyway, right?"

"Yeah," Dave chuckled his answer, feeling more at-ease.

A flurry of loud-but-friendly voices coming from the center of the room drew the attention of Dave and Tony. They turned away from their drinks momentarily to see that Zack, Buke, and Jack had arrived, exchanging loud, rowdy greetings with Scoop and Ronk.

"The gang has appeared," Tony pronounced, retrieving a chuckle from Dave.

The group migrated to the bar near the place where Tony and Dave were seated. Zack reached out his hand, shaking hands roughly with Tony first, then Dave.

"Hey, guys," Zack nearly shouted over the sound of the jukebox. "Tony, hey. Good to see you could make it tonight, Dave."

"Good to see you too, Zack," Dave laughed, returning the handshake with equal vigor while Tony nodded, leaning back onto the bar and smiling.

Buke and Jack smiled and nodded in Dave and Tony's direction, a more reserved greeting.

"Hey, man, where's Robbie?" Ronk asked the group above the music.

"I dunno," Scoop answered. "I told him we were all hanging out tonight."

"Get him on the phone and tell him to get his lame ass here," Zack responded.

With this, Scoop produced his phone and drifted toward the center of the room, away from the noise originating from the speaker near the bar. The rest of the gathering followed while Dave and Tony remained seated. Scoop punched the screen of his phone then held it to his ear.

"Robbie?" Scoop's voice was loud enough to be heard by Dave and Tony over the din. "Where are you? We're all here at the Tap Room waiting for you to get your butt down here."

"All the guys are here, and Shelly's here too."

"Yeah, he's here."

"Aw, man? You sure? We're having a good time."

"Okay, suit yourself. Later."

Scoop appeared annoyed, tapping his phone, ending the call.

"Robbie's staying home and being lame tonight," Scoop informed the group, throwing his gaze toward Dave and Tony as he raised his head. "His loss."

The group murmured collective disappointment as they migrated further toward the center of the room. Dave mentally filled in the blanks of Robbie's side of the conversation, lowering his head and his gaze back to his beer.

"Robbie's a cool guy, but he'e weird sometimes about hanging out," Tony voiced, sounding observational but intending to relax a perceived tension in Dave.

"Or who he's hanging out with?" Dave's response was low-pitched but direct.

"He's uncomfortable, maybe, but he'll come around eventually," Tony assured. "He's a good guy."

Dave nodded, not appearing especially satisfied with Tony's assessment.

After a short span of silence no dialogue which seemed incongruous in a bar filled with loud noise, Tony spoke again, changing the subject.

"Hey Dave, you remember that last show we did, a few weeks back?"

Dave glanced in Tony's direction. "At the White Box? Thursday night show? It was about a month ago at this point."

"Yeah, that's the show," Tony recognized. "Were you, um, checking out that guy who was setting up that guitar-rig?"

Dave's mouth dropped open slightly, a hint of a smile, then widening to an embarrassed smile as he faced downward. "Yeah, I guess I was."

"It's cool," Tony replied with in a genuine tone. "I never would have thought twice about it until that dinner thing when you came out."

Dave chuckled, disarmed, suddenly more comfortable. "Yeah, well, like anyone else, something catches my attention, I look at it."

"Cool by me," Tony nodded. "It's nothing you ever need to explain or apologize for either."

Dave paused for a moment, appearing thoughtful as he turned to face Tony more directly. "Y'know, the way you were at that dinner thing after I, um, came out, I really appreciate how you reacted and how supportive you were. Even, like, right now. I mean, a bunch of my friends are here, but they're all at the other end of the room. You're sitting next to me and talking with me." Dave stopped short of revealing the fact that the reception given by some of his other friends felt somewhat cool.

"They're all fine with you, Dave," Tony reassured. "And maybe I'm feel like just sitting at the bar and keeping it low-key tonight."

Dave smiled and nodded, staring forward into the space behind the bar.

"I've been thinkin', though," Tony began, shifting the conversation, "I've never been with a guy before, but I guess I've always kinda been curious."

The smile dropped from Dave's face, his stare firmly entrenched into the empty space before him.

"I was wondering if, maybe, you'd be up for foolin' around sometime. See what happens."

Dave shook his head slowly. "Nuh, I don't think so. I don't think I'd be up for that."

"I thought maybe you might be," Tony sounded unaffected by Dave's response.

"Um, you have a girlfriend, and I guess I assumed that you're straight."

"Yeah, Meghan and I have talked about it, and she seems cool with it. Might even want to watch if I get comfortable with it."

Dave nearly gasped and shook his head. "I really wouldn't be cool with that. I mean, nothing against you or anything, but I don't think I'm up for being some bi-curious person's experiment."

"I thought it might be cool because we're friends and we already know each other and everything."

"No," Dave mumbled quietly, appearing to physically shrink on his barstool.

"It's cool," Tony assured. "I'm not bummed out or anything. Just thought I'd throw it out there." Tony stood from his seat and patted Dave's shoulder. "I gotta go hit the little-boys'-room. Be back in a couple."

The feeling of Tony's hand on his shoulder, a gesture that would have been comforting five minutes before, sent a spasm of tension through Dave's spine. He also felt a level of relief that Tony had excused himself to the lavatory.

Dave didn't want to be where he was. Despite the close proximity of his friends nothing felt right. While the rest of the group was now gathered at the opposite corner of the bar and Tony was elsewhere, Dave sensed a window of opportunity. He collected his change from the bar, left a tip, and quietly walked toward the exit door, stepping out into the cool night air.

He made his way to his car and pulled out his phone, scrolling his list of contacts for Scoop's number. As the names of friends and acquaintances rolled by, he caught sight of Garret's number. He stopped scrolling and rolled back, stopping on Garrett's name.

It was still early, barely nine-thirty, and Dave had had a great time hanging out with him the previous weekend. He volleyed off a text message to him.

_Hey there. What's going on?_

Dave continued down his list of contacts to Scoop's name when an incoming text alert sounded.

Garrett: _Hey Dave! Not much. Hanging with some guys at the Hound & Butterfly. Wanna join us?_ 9:36PM

Dave smirked. He was cheered by the immediate and enthusiastic response. He knew where the club was located though he'd never been there before, and it had a reputation for being a gay-bar with a laid-back atmosphere. The distraction of some new faces might lift the last half-hour's quiet anxiety. He returned a message to Garrett.

_Don't go anywhere. Will be there in 20._

Returning to his contacts list, Dave again located Scoop's name and shot him a message.

_Hey. Sorry I had to bail on you. It was feeling kinda weird. See you back at the apartment later tonight._

Dave set his car in gear and drove it onto the road as his phone sounded two incoming messages.

Garrett: _Awesome. See you soon._ 9:38PM

Scoop: _Ok. See you later._ 9:39PM

* * *

John didn't frequent many gay bars, but he generally felt comfortable at the Hound & Butterfly. He stood at the bar, scanning the occupants of the place, not sure if he was feeling social or interested enough to strike up a conversation with anyone. Certainly, running into a friend or acquaintance could change this, but he hadn't seen anyone he knew save the bartender and some of the staff.

As far as John was concerned, the Hound & Butterfly was certainly preferable to HM Massacres, the trendier of the two gay bars located on the same block in Old Town. John wasn't the fighting type, but the clientele which HM Massacres attracted often pushed him to his boundaries of rage with its fashionable elitism and affected exclusivity.

From the bar at the Hound & Butterfly, John could see almost the entirety of the room. The place wasn't exactly bustling, but there was a fair amount of patrons: the usual assortment of polite older men and more-reserved guys in their twenties and thirties. That is, save for one somewhat noisy table of younger-looking guys; and even then, just one of them. It was a table of three men who appeared to be in their early twenties. One of them, a taller flannel-and-jeans-clad young man with wild hair and a beard just shy of being unkempt was downright loud, though he seemed harmless enough. His two friends were more laughing with (or at) him than contributing to the friendly ruckus he seemed intent on creating. Though they seemed slightly out-of-place at the Hound & Butterfly, they would have been downright alien at HM Massacres, that's for certain, John decided.

John couldn't decide if he thought their presence was annoying or refreshing, almost feeling the urge to introduce himself. No one else in the place seemed to mind their antics, and John was technically celebrating the completion of a project. That's when the door to the place swung open and the loud boy stood and began waving frantically to attract the attention of the young man who'd just entered the bar. It was Dave, and the loud boy, appearing jubilant, greeted him with friendly punches to his shoulders; Dave's immediate facial response was as buoyant smile.

John blanched as he lifted his drink and moved to the furthest, dimmest end of the bar. He watched as Dave approached the bar and ordered a beer. As Dave returned to the table of others, beer in hand, John stepped slightly out of the shadows, confident and relieved that he hadn't been seen.

Though he couldn't hear the conversation coming from the table, John could see Dave smiling and laughing with the other young men, and the sight made him nauseous and livid. Fear of being discovered kept him from trying to get closer to the table so he could hear the conversation, but the sight was enough to send him trembling. He finished the remainder of his screwdriver, half the drink, in a single gulp and quietly signaled the bartender that he'd have another. His next drink was gone in less than a minute.

Dave looked incredible: the smile hadn't left his face since he'd entered the bar, something John hadn't even approached accomplishing in the three times they'd actually met. _Fuck_, John thought, feeling like he was going to explode.

The four young men stood and approached one of the bar's pool tables and began playing. Dave and the other two, though obviously having a good time, seemed restrained in comparison to the loud, unkempt boy. When a nineteen-eighties-era power-ballad came over the speakers, the loud boy began to ham it up, much to the amusement of Dave and the others, holding his pool cue like a guitar and singing into his beer-bottle as if it were a microphone, ridiculously close to Dave, causing Dave's face to blush as he laughed at the other man's display.

_But I guess that's why they say  
__Every rose has its thorn  
__Just like every night has its dawn  
__Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song  
__Every rose has its thorn_

Even some of the other patrons of the establishment seemed amused by the loud boy's merriment, but John had reached his limit. He couldn't watch any more of this. He wanted to drown his feelings in alcohol, but he couldn't stand to see Dave having a good time with these other people any longer.

John was far enough away from the pool tables, and the bar area was dark enough, enabling him to slip out of the exit door undetected. Once outside he breathed the cool night air and it calmed him slightly. He still wanted to drink. HM Massacres was around the corner. He hated the place; but, then again, he hated how he felt at that moment. In theory, HM Massacres was a perfect environment for his current state of mind.

* * *

"Dave, man, I'm really glad you texted me tonight," Garrett said as he flopped into his seat across the table from Dave, returning from the outside and having said goodbye to his other friends for the evening. "Great to see you again, man. Hopefully, we can make this a fairly-regular thing."

Dave chuckled in return. Garrett's smile was charismatic, and it played well with his disheveled appearance. It was even enhanced by a degree of jovial drunkenness when they'd met before during the previous weekend. Tonight, however, the drunkenness had crossed the line from jovial to sloppy, no doubt amplified by his fairly-regular excursions outside the bar, most recently to see his friends off and the presumed farewell-blaze implied therein.

"I had a good time too," Dave answered finally. "I'd been hanging with some friends I hadn't seen in a while, and it felt kinda weird, awkward. I felt like letting off some steam, so I thought I'd see what you were up to."

"Good call, Dave," Garrett leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed upon Dave and a smug grin on his face; Dave registered a small amount of discomfort at this, looking down into the tabletop.

It was getting late. Though the music was still loud, the sound of the few other patrons remaining at the Hound & Butterfly was subdued. Dave swiveled his head around, taking in the nearly-vacated premises. His eyes landed again on Garrett's, unchanged from moments before, then back to the tabletop.

"I should get moving," Dave spoke, suddenly animated and purposeful. "They're gonna be closing the place up on us. You need a ride?" Dave stood up from his seat and watched Garrett smile hazily as he slowly sat upright, preparing himself to stand.

"I live close enough to walk home, but if you're offering, I'm taking," Garrett's speech was slightly slurred as he scrambled gracelessly to his feet.

"Dude, you're not in any condition to walk more than, like, twenty feet in any direction," Dave spoke plainly.

"You sayin' I'm drunk?" Garrett grinned wide at Dave, inches away from his face, eyes narrowed and head cocked, exhaling fetid breath.

Dave recoiled, closing his eyes and turning away from Garrett's face, grimacing slightly. "Dude, you're smashed. Let's get you home."

Though it required a few seconds for Garrett to become effectively ambulatory, he walked out of the place unassisted without the overt appearance of inebriation, Dave following closely behind.

Garrett seated himself in the passenger's seat of Dave's car without event, giving Dave quick directions to his apartment building. Dave had set the car in motion, concentrating on the road ahead, when a flash of light in the periphery of his right-side vision caught his attention. He turned to his right to see that Garrett had a small pipe up to his mouth and was attempting to light it, striking his lighter repeatedly.

"Dude!" Dave's emphatic verbal reaction wrought a stunned expression from Garrett. "Don't smoke that stuff in my car. It'll take me forever to get that smell outta here!"

"Oh, sorry, man," Garrett replied, dull, placing the pipe into a clear plastic bag before sliding it into his shirt pocket.

The remainder of the short ride was silent, Dave not bothering to turn on any music, and Garrett seemingly oblivious.

Dave slowed and stopped his car on the street in front of Garrett's building, the door to his ground-level apartment a short walk from the curb. "Hey, man, thanks for getting in touch with me tonight. I had a good time," Garrett spoke as he turned to face Dave, dimly-conscious expression on his face.

"Ah, hey, man, I had a pretty good time, so I'm glad I did," Dave spoke, markedly more casual than he had minutes before.

Garrett's expression, though still vacant, widened into a dazed grin. "You wanna come in for a while, man?"

"Uh, no, I don't wanna do that," Dave's tone betrayed his marked unease at the question.

"Aw, c'mon," the words dragged, consciously melodramatic, "I'm horny."

"You're _trashed_, and you might pass out in the middle of something, and that thought is kinda unappealing to me," Dave's words were measured and breathy as if exhausted by the task of voicing them.

Garrett's smile fell slightly before he began laughing again. "Well, okay then." Garrett turned his body away from Dave, opening the car door and slowly climbing from the car and standing upright on the sidewalk.

"You gonna be okay?" Dave asked, conscious of Garrett's compromised state.

Garrett smiled, almost smug. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Keep in touch, okay?"

"Yeah, no problem," Dave spoke, indifferent but nominally honest as he watched Garrett close the car door and walk to the building. He continued to watch until he was sure that Garrett was inside before he put the car in motion in a direction toward home.

The ride wasn't long, not at the present post-midnight hour: traffic was sparse, nonexistent even. Dave lowered his window, the cool night air soothing on his forehead. He was thinking about nothing though the uncomfortable feelings left by the evening's events lingered.

When he arrived at his apartment, Scoop was waiting for him in the livingroom.

"Hey, Dave. So you ditched your friends?"

"Scoop, sorry. It was really not feeling right."

"Yeah," Scoop lowered his head, understanding Dave's impressions and becoming less confrontational than his initial greeting implied. "Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I was thinking everything would be the same as it always was."

"Scoop, man, you can do very little wrong in my book, _ever_," Dave reassured as he sat down on the couch next to Scoop. "Ronk seemed fine, and Zack was great, but Robbie wasn't there. Having heard your half of the conversation, I can only assume why. Buke and Jack were keeping some kind of distance, something that never happened with them before. I can't pretend that hanging with those guys felt like it did a month ago. I can't pretend that something isn't different."

"Tony seemed to be cool with everything," Scoop noted. "You were chatting with him at the bar for a while, then you disappeared."

Dave exhaled, loud and slow. "That wasn't good."

"What?"

"You can't tell anyone. I probably shouldn't even tell you, but I will because you're my best friend and I trust you with my life." Dave paused for a moment before addressing Scoop directly. "You really wanna know?"

Scoop raised his eyebrows, a vacant expression mixed with curiosity and slight interest.

"Tony said he was, um, _curious_, and he said that he wanted to, like, _fool around_ with me or something."

Scoop's gaze dropped from Dave's eyes and his mouth twisted at one side, a puzzled expression. "Um, what about Meghan?"

"He said that they'd talked about it, and she might want to watch once he gets the hang of it."

A silence hung in the air until Scoop began to chuckle, increasing in loudness and intensity. Dave snorted a laugh as well.

"The fuck you laughin' at?" Scoop forced out between cackles of laughter.

"Fuck you," Dave retorted, similarly broken by snorts and snickers, "you started it."

The two gradually regained their composure, falling quiet again.

"Doesn't seem like you drank a lot," Dave noted.

"I didn't," Scoop confirmed. "Once you left, I got kinda serious and a little bummed out. Kinda tried to figure out what happened. Then I came home early, after only a couple of beers, thinking you'd be here."

"Sorry."

"No, man, no need to apologize," Scoop was understanding. "If it wasn't feeling cool, you were probably right not to hang around. Where'd you go anyway?"

"Ah, I texted a guy I met over the weekend. Met up with him and his friends tonight." Dave paused, thoughtful. "I had a good time with him then. I had a decent time with him tonight, but he parties maybe a little too hard for my liking."

"Harder than _me_ and, like, the other guys?"

Dave grinned, laughed almost futile. "Um, I don't have any aspirations with you guys beyond the friendly and practical."

Scoop was silent, a confused expression.

"I'm never going to be _physically intimate_ with any of you."

"Ahh," Scoop nodded at the clarification.

"Trust me, Scoop. This guy, attractive though I might find him, became really unappealing when he tried to smooch me with hours-old Beam-and-four-twenty-breath."

"Ew, yeah, that's uh," Scoop stammered, "I gotcha."

"I'm gonna crash for the night," Dave spoke as he stood from the couch, "I didn't plan on being out so late."

"Hey, Dave," Scoop raised his head, addressing Dave directly, "sorry I dragged you out tonight, especially since it was not so good."

Dave smiled slight and shook his head. "Don't apologize. I told you already, you can do very little wrong as far as I'm concerned. You couldn't have known it was gonna be, uh, _weird_. And, I kinda appreciate the fact that you flagged me down to get me to hang with you and the guys. Regardless of the results. I know your heart and mind were in the right place."

Scoop nodded. "Good night, Dave."

"See you sometime tomorrow, Scoop. Good night."

* * *

Though the temptation to sleep past his alarm was great, Dave dragged himself out of bed at his regular time, forcing his daily morning routine, and feeling better for it my mid-morning (though a late-afternoon catnap after his return from classes was planned and acted upon).

The early-evening found the apartment vacant save for himself, and a late starting-time Friday allowed the potential of another late-evening out. Dave wondered why he even entertained these thoughts, as if the previous evening hadn't made him weary enough to avoid any bar-scene, but, as the evening drew on, his restlessness won the internal contest of wills.

Thursday night found Dave visiting HM Massacres for the first time, having had one of his online acquaintances drop the name in a text message as a place where they could be found with some regularity. Dave was becoming more comfortable with the scene, having visited other such bars recently, as recently as the previous evening, all of those times meeting people whom he'd met online; this was the first time which he'd gone to such a place by himself. Dressed casually and low-key, he found himself somewhat at odds with the others in his age group who were in attendance; Dave walked slowly but with a purposeful gait, doing his best to visually negate the fact that he felt out of place amid the thumpy club music and fashionably-clad pretty-boys. Standing against the bar were two pleasant-looking, casually-dressed men, attractive but markedly older than Dave. They nodded a greeting politely in Dave's direction; he smiled and returned the nod as he approached the bar, seating himself on one of the barstools, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

After the bartender had brought Dave his beer, he swiveled on his barstool, facing away from the bar and taking in the rest of the room. The kinetic, repetitive music was loud. _I'd give anything to hear a Nickelback song right now, and I don't even like Nickelback much_, Dave thought to himself, _hell,_ _I'd settle for a dance song I _recognized_ or something_.

"What's that you're drinkin'?"

The question shook Dave from his thoughts to the man who had asked the question, the man who was sitting a few stools to Dave's right. The man was older than Dave but friendly in appearance, similarly understated in dress, and wearing a curious expression.

"It's a Straub," Dave addressed the man, lifting his bottle and holding it in the man's direction enabling him to better see the label in the dimly-lit bar.

"I've never seen that before," the man spoke, eyeing the label more closely; his voice was somewhat high-pitched and urgent-sounding, but his tone was polite.

"It's from out east," Dave expanded, a relaxed smile forming on his face. "I'm from Ohio originally. Straub is made next door in Pennsylvania."

The man smiled and nodded. "What brings you to Oregon?"

"School, mostly," Dave smiled, crooked and sincere, "and the need to get out of Ohio."

The man smiled and held his bottle across the seats toward Dave; Dave raised his and tapped the neck of his bottle to the other man's, returning the smile.

A few seats from Dave on his left side, he could hear four young, trendy-looking men talking loudly with obviously exaggerated flamboyance. He was trying his best to ignore them when the loudest of the group, one with a ridiculously lofty blonde coiffure and a layer of very obvious concealer spouted, almost as if making some kind of announcement. "Oh, guess who was here last night? John, the excitable twink cruelly born in the body of a red-haired cub and prone to fits of philosophical malaise over his unfortunate shape and inability to tan."

The three other laughed to varying degrees at their blonde friend's assessment. "Oh, yeah," a self-starved, primped, dark-haired version, resembling a malnourished Adam Lambert, chimed, "what was his issue _du jour_?"

_"Issue du jour?"_ the blonde sassed, loud. "More like _issue du moment_!" More laughter as Dave leaned toward the small crowd, trying to be inconspicuous as the skinny blonde continued. "If there _was_ an issue, any _particular_ issue, he was hiding it behind a wall of tipsy and trashy, making a spectacle of himself. Wasn't pretty, and not really in character for John. Dismissible as he is, I felt kinda _bad_ for him." The blonde snapped his tongue and rolled his eyes, melodramatic, insincere, and aloof.

"Last time I saw him was a few weeks back," spoke one of the quieter, more understated, less jovial of the group. "He was all aswoon over having met the dreamy-eyed bear of his wildest fantasies."

A moment of speechlessness was followed by a loud group cackle, the sound one might expect to result if a lit firecracker was tossed into a henhouse. The blonde, apparently always first with a reaction, almost howled, "_'Dreamy bear?'_ Oh, honey, tell me _another_!" He raised his hand and held his sleeve to his forehead, feigning a sob of laughter, "Such creatures don't exist."

Dave stood and moved himself closer to the gathering, speaking tentatively but loudly enough to be heard, interested in the conversation. "Hey, excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear. That John guy you're talking about?"

"Well, If there _was_ any truth to it," one of the others rattled on as if Dave had not spoken, "I'm sure _that_ thing fell apart."

"Of course, you know how _he_ operates," the blonde, clearly the ringleader in this group nearly squeaked. "Drags a couple of dates out of some poor loser, disappears, and laughs about it to all of his friends."

"He didn't seem like that this time," the quiet one spoke again, "seemed like he was really into the guy for real."

"Um, _excuse me_?" Dave spoke louder but still retaining a sense of decorum. "I don't mean to intrude, but that John guy you're talking about? He come here often?"

"Excuse _me_, are you talking to _us_?" the blonde man turned sharply, insect-like, casting his head downward and addressing Dave with eyes rolled to their uppermost extreme.

"Um, yeah?" Dave answered innocuously, a hint of a grin on his face.

"No, you only _think_ that you could be talking to us," the blonde answered; the others remained silent, expressions becoming vague.

_"Excuse me?"_ Dave's voice rose in volume.

"Calm your tits, Jethro Bodine," the blonde said through a snap of his tongue. "We were talking amongst ourselves, we don't remember inviting _you_, and it's _such_ a cliché to use an overheard conversation as an invitation to try to get into our pants."

Dave's expression dropped as if slightly hurt before his face became hard and his eyes narrowed. "Don't flatter yourselves," he spoke in a low-pitched monotone as he pushed himself into the young man's face causing him to back away in apprehension. "You are far from the kind of guys I'd hit on. All I did was ask a simple question in a polite manner. You didn't need to be rude about it."

The blonde man braced himself straighter, more upright, inhaled audibly, spoke: slightly shaken but hiding it as well as he could. "Well, I'll relay this message from John: bottom-feeder though he may be, I'm sure he's not interested that someone asked about him." his eyes traveled the length of Dave's form from his face downward and back up with an expression of disapproval. "Besides, what are you doing _here_? Are you sure you're really gay?"

Dave moved himself more closely, stopping a fraction of an inch before their noses collided. "You're lucky you're in here with all these people around, because if you talked like that to me outside, I'd beat the fuck outta you and throw what's left into a recycling bin. _Understand_?"

Dave backed away slowly, but his eyes remained locked on the other's until his gaze dropped downward, defeated by Dave's words and expression; the others in the group watched, stunned, as Dave slowly returned to his barstool.

Dave wanted to leave immediately, angered by the exchange, but he wouldn't give the young, trendy group the satisfaction. Something about the conversation troubled him. He faced the bar and took a deep drink from his bottle before being shaken once again by the voice of the older man on his opposite side.

"Don't let those kids get to you," the man offered, an understanding but confident smile on his face. "You're alright. Once they reach about thirty, they'll have nothing left to offer: four pathetic guys doomed to grow old without grace, creepy and still wearing hot teen fashions into their fifties."

Dave smiled and nodded at the man politely, though slightly taken aback by the man's bluntness. "Yeah, thanks. I was used to coming up against that in Ohio, but it's the first time I'd seen it here."

"Buddy, they're all over," the man chuckled.

Dave shrugged and smiled, nodding in agreement. "I have nothing against the trendies as long as they respect that we come in all different shapes, sizes, and colors."

"And flavors," the man added with a wink which, oddly, did not project as creepy. Dave laughed in response.

"Hey, man," a quiet voice snagged Dave's attention from over his other shoulder. "Sorry about my friend before."

Dave craned his head to see the thicker-built, quieter young man from the group at the far side of the bar. "Well, that's nice of you, I appreciate that, but you aren't the one who should be apologizing. Your friend, though, might want to work on his people skills."

The young man shrugged and shook his head, a humble expression of humored futility, before speaking again. "That John guy you were asking about, though?"

"Yeah?"

"He really doesn't come here all that often."

Dave nodded, trying to appear indifferent. "Thanks. Thanks for a straight answer."

"I really don't know him all that well," the young man expanded. "Sometimes he's kinda hyper, like, some might say obnoxious, but it's also kinda fun. My name's Ralph, by the way." With that, the young man extended his right hand.

Dave nodded, his expression becoming impatient as he finished his beer. "Thanks for the info, nice to meet you. Dave here." Dave took Ralph's hand and shook it, firm but brief.

Dave stood and left a tip on the bar, nodded and smiled to the older man, nodded pointedly, almost accusing, at the young man, and left the establishment. It was still fairly early in the evening, and Dave's Friday classes wouldn't begin until the afternoon, but he didn't want to be out any longer. For as much as he didn't necessarily want to be at home, his interest in being elsewhere had deflated. Something in the verbal exchange with the young men had messed with him, gotten to him, like he was the punchline of some inside joke among gay young men who belonged to some exclusive caste to which he couldn't dream to aspire. The feeling intensified as he neared his apartment.

Dave entered the darkened apartment quietly through the deck entrance. The apartment was dark, no light coming from the living room or Scoop's bedroom: Scoop was likely hanging with the other guys tonight.

Dave retired straight to his bedroom. He turned on a small light, keeping the space dimly-lit. Unlike most nights, he didn't turn on his laptop. He didn't want the distraction. He lay quietly on his bed, thinking about the evening's events, the conversations at the bar, and John. He hadn't thought of John in two weeks. In Dave's mind, John had been resigned to the status of an unimportant memory, but the memory had returned and was expanding in Dave's thoughts: a phone call last night, an overheard conversation and near-confrontation tonight. What seemed to be a very brief, closed chapter in Dave's life suddenly created questions and called for answers. Dave didn't know how to get in touch with John, but he new a few places where he might be found. He could start by visiting Stumptown Coffee Roasters and asking Mack some questions.

* * *

Dave felt an odd sense of déjà vu getting off of the trolley near Stumptown Roasters. It was nearly the same sunny day as it had been back then, but he didn't feel the positive vibe he'd felt that earlier day. He felt angry and laughed at. It was something he hadn't felt in years, and its rottenness was intensifying progressively: life was complicated enough without this level of bullshit. Dave could handle the shallow insults from the fashion-monkeys; but the confusion surrounding John was eating at him. He felt that John had fucked with him, and it was his first inclination to fuck with John right back. But first, he needed to _find_ John: answers and a sense of closure couldn't happen until then.

"Hello, welcome to Stumptown," Mack said as Dave entered the door, little bell jingling above his head.

"Hey," Dave said, looking at the board and trying to figure out what he wanted. "How are your lattes here? I don't come here much."

"Well, when _I'm_ working, they're fantastic," Mack said with a broad smile from beneath his jaunty driver's hat.

"Alright, I'll take one of those. And a couple of these biscotti."

"Sounds good," Mack nodded as he rang Dave's order. "You new to the West Coast? Most people don't start off at Stumptown alone. We're kinda intimidating to transplants."

"Nope, not really," Dave said as he watched Mack making his latte. "I'm actually a PSU student. I just usually make my own coffee, I mean, that's why we have coffee-makers, right? I'm just usually not out this early or in this part of town." Dave paused, moving forward with the purpose of this visit. "Hey, I got a question for you though? You work here on Sundays, right? You know John, don't you?"

"Roger that," Mack said absentmindedly as he poured out Dave's drink with a sidelong glance as Dave asked about John. "I know quite a few Johns, actually. Which one are you thinking of?"

"Red hair? Bouncy personality? Beats up on himself a lot?"

"Ah. Yeah, haven't seen him in a couple of weeks actually. Arianna said he was having issues editing his latest film and he'd been holed up. She'd practically had to pry him out of the booth with a crowbar to get him to leave. Says he's not talking much, just sits there for long stretches and edits," Mack said with a shake of his head. "Why? You looking for him?"

Dave nodded and thought of a quick story. "Yeah. We're we're in a book-exchange, and he's got my copy of _The Kite Runner_."

"Well, he's probably taking pretty good care of it," Mack spoke, expression becoming slightly suspicious. "He's always pretty good with other people's stuff." Mack paused. "Huh. You're in a book-exchange with him, and you don't have an email addy or phone number?"

"Nope. He didn't leave me with anything like that." Dave was convincing because the last sentence was completely true, and his expression must have cleansed the skepticism from Mack's mind.

"Listen, next time I see him, I'll let him know you're looking for him. What did you say your name was?"

"No, it's okay. I'm sure we'll bump into each other."

"No guarantees there. If he's not here or the editing booth, he could be doing church stuff. He's a tenor in the choir." Mack paused for a moment. "Oh, and the Q Center. And karaoke at Barrelheads, though I think it's been a long time since he's done that."

Dave picked up his latte from the little perch Mack had laid it on. "Well, thanks anyway." Dave nodded and raised his cup, a visual parting gesture.

"No problem," Mack smiled, "enjoy your day."

Dave sat outside where Mack couldn't see him. He faced toward the sun, brightening in color and warmth everyday a little moreso now, and thought about how Mack had described John. Dave wondered if John wasn't hiding out more due to embarrassment than dedication to filmmaking. He snorted. If this was true, John probably had reasons to be embarrassed.

He opened his phone and typed "gay churches portland" into the search, unsure of which church John actually attended. When calls to both of the churches on the list went unanswered, he moved onto trying to find the Q Center. He whistled when he saw the location on the map: Mississippi Avenue. Dave knew that John liked food carts, and there was a corral right behind the place. Dave had never been to Mississippi Avenue, but the place had a reputation for being queer-and-artist-friendly: it added up to an ideal stomping-ground for John.

Dave finished his latte and his biscotti, pocketed his phone, and jogged to catch up to the stopping streetcar.

A helpful, if slightly bored, front desk associate at the Q Center had told Dave that (1) John hadn't been there in a couple of months due to an internship and (2) he loved their library. Dave recalled John's bookishness and peeked into the library for future reference, mentally noting the place. He'd never seen so many queer-interest books in one collection. It wasn't overwhelming, just good to know it was there; and it appeared to be a comfortable environment to read or study if the location was convenient during a period of downtime, something to file away for later.

Conscious of the immediate, however, Dave left the place to catch the streetcar back to campus. He had a comfortable amount of time before his first class began and, in all likelihood, would be early by the better part of an hour, but, then, he preferred not to be rushed.

* * *

The remainder of the weekend passed without significant event, merely Dave imposing his regular routines upon himself with greater strictness and discipline than before. By the early part of the following week, however, Dave's focus shifted once again. This began with the weekly Sunday evening phone call from his dad. It's interesting, Dave observed, that the most trivial of conversations were welcome and pleasing before learning of his parent's inevitable divorce; now, given that certainty, talks with Paul remained trivial but became void of pleasure. The closeness he felt with his consistent group of friends also seemed altered given the tension of last week's meeting with the gang: conscious or not, Dave had been branded with outsider-status. Even his friendship with Scoop, one which he held dear and unshakable, felt nonetheless colored by recent events. These things points combined to make Dave feel rather uncomfortable, even in his own apartment; and given the lack of previously-available distractions in his life, Dave's simmering disturbance at John increased exponentially into a quiet rage.

Dave still adhered strictly to his daylight routine of leaving the apartment early and going on his morning run; the typical school-day remained unaffected as well. The downtime, late-afternoon, and evening hours were where the shift in habits occurred, increasingly as the hours wore later.

Despite this shift in habits, Dave remained diligent concerning his school work. Assignments and reading were done during his breaks between classes and in the evening hours in the campus common areas. Dave was drinking a fair amount of coffee at the beginning of the week, and he could be found in the local coffeeshop into the evening's later hours before he returned home. Though John still crossed his mind, Dave didn't think much about tracking him down; rather, he thought more about flying off-the-handle at him if he actually ever did run into him by chance. These priorities changed on Wednesday of that week.

Dave's final Wednesday class had been cancelled, though the instructor had left the students with a rather large reading assignment. This left Dave with a large block of unclaimed afternoon hours and a fair amount of reading to accomplish. Dave had thought about visiting the library at the Q Center again to get a better look at it, and this event afforded him the opportunity to do that.

Upon his arrival at the Q Center library, Dave spent a small amount of time exploring the bookshelves and finding items of interest: possibly a place he'd visit more frequently during the summer break. Eventually, he settled himself into one of the chairs and pulled his Statistical Analysis textbook from his bookbag along with a can of energy drink which he'd bought just prior to catching the streetcar: the can was still cold.

While Dave sometimes read through his assignments and took notes on his laptop at the same time, this time he found himself merely reading the text and highlighting passages, planning to reread it and take notes at another time, possibly later in the evening. Though the theoretical side of subjects such as these bored other students, Dave often found himself drawn into the material: he thoroughly appreciated the communication of science and higher math through language, and he sometimes found himself nearly lost in it.

Minor sounds, voices, coming from the reception area were detected in Dave's ears but dismissed as he was absorbed in his text. Only when the sight of something, a figure in the periphery of Dave's vision, came and then quickly vanished did he elevate from his rapt state; and even then, it was a slightly delayed reaction. That's when he realized that he recognized that mumbled tone bubbling from the reception area. He started out of his waking-trance, jumping to his feet and darting to the reception desk.

"Was someone just here?" he asked the girl behind the desk.

"Uh, yeah," she replied.

"They left in a hurry," Dave pressed.

"Oh, that guy said that he forgot something. Yeah, seemed like it was an emergency."

Dave walked quickly to the exit doors which afforded a fairly wide view of the street. In the distance, he saw a fast-walking figure, a heavy-set male with a backpack, appearing to have red hair. Dave looked downward into the wastebasket by the door. Near the top was a crumpled paper cup, the same style used by Stumptown Roasters, a drinking-straw and trace of a clear red liquid at the bottom of the cup: Italian soda.

John was here, and he fled when he saw Dave in the library.

Dave's rage reawakened, loud. It was undefined, but it was surfacing. Concentrating on his reading assignment was futile at this point. The afternoon was growing golden, and evening would soon darken the city.

Dave arrived at the Tardis Bar at a little after eight o'clock in the evening. The late-dinner crowed was dispersing, and Dave sat at the bar, a stool away from a dark-haired, heavily-tattooed man. The man appeared to be in his thirties, and was typing into a laptop between swigs of beer.

"This place convenient, or do you come here for the atmosphere?" Dave asked, approachable but with a hint of sarcasm.

The man looked annoyed at first until his eyes registered Dave, then his attitude lightened.

"A little of both, I should think," the man replied, smiling flirtatiously. "I write the Dr. Who trivia questions."

"Oh yeah?" Dave's interest piqued. "Do you know a red-haired guy named John? A little heavy-set? Glasses? Beard?"

The man nodded slowly, smiling, raising his eyebrows quickly, knowingly. "Oh yeah. Doesn't come here too often, though."

"Do you know where he _does_ hang out?"

The man didn't verbalize an answer at first, merely shaking his head slowly, almost trance-like. "He knows his Dr. Who trivia, but he doesn't come by all that often, though he used to." The man paused for a moment before offering his hand. "Rich here. You are...?"

"Dave," Dave said as he shook the man's hand. "Nice to meet you, but you're not likely to see me here too often."

"Aw, why _not_?" the man held out the last word in melodramatic mock-disappointment.

"Because Dr. Who's not really my thing, and this place isn't terribly convenient to me." Dave finished his beer in a single gulp and moved to stand up at which point Rich reached outward, groping Dave's arm."

"Aw, c'mon," Rich almost pleaded, "hang out and let me buy you a beer."

Dave grinned, incredulous. "Are you for _real_?"

"Oh, I'm real. Stay a few."

The man bought Dave another beer, and, as a result, the two spoke for over an hour; well, Rich talked and Dave listened though almost all of the information was of no use to Dave. He didn't need to ask any more questions about John because it was apparent from early in the conversation that the man knew nothing of use. He volunteered that John liked to lip-synch (badly) to songs by Heart. He also volunteered that he'd never seen John get drunk, or even drink (dispelling Dave's possible theory of John being a lush: information, yes, but not useful, really).

It was nearly ten o'clock when Dave left the Tardis Bar. The streetcar ride home was longer than he had anticipated: arriving after eleven o'clock, entering his apartment quietly, and retiring to his bedroom.

* * *

Like the previous day, the daylight hours passed routinely and without event. He took a streetcar to Stumptown Roasters in the early evening hours. There, over coffee, he reviewed the day's assignments, making some notations as needed, completed a short reading assignment, and checked his email on his laptop.

As night descended darker, he caught a streetcar to Barrelheads, primarily to check the place out. It was a typical bar-and-restaurant combination, appearing slightly upscale but not snobby. Dave had two beers at the bar, and he was informed that karaoke was a weekly Saturday night event. He was there less than an hour, returning home just before midnight.

* * *

By Friday, Dave's routine had become mechanical, and Dave himself was becoming machine-like. His first class being in the afternoon afforded him another combination of stops at Stumptown for coffee and a brief stop at the Q Center Library to review his notes before going to class.

After his Friday classes ended, Dave caught a streetcar to Old Town where both HM Massacres and the Hound & Butterfly were located. He stopped in HM Massacres first. The place was rather empty as it was too early in the evening to be fashionably late, Dave mused to himself. There were a few stray patrons around the place and one lone person on the dancefloor who appeared starved and too old for the trendy clothes he was wearing. If Dave had been feeling less like a robot and more human, he might have enjoyed watching that particular display. In his current state, though, there was no entertainment value to be had in it.

As the club began to become more crowded, Dave left and walked around the block to the Hound & Butterfly. The place was fairly crowded itself but not uncomfortably so. Dave stood at the bar ordering his his regular beer when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Hey, remember me?"

Dave turned to see the face of a man he recognized though it was not terribly familiar.

"From last week?" the man said. "At Massacres? Asshole friends?"

"Oh yeah," Dave smiled at the ridiculousness of the point which brought back the memory. "Uh, _Ralph_?"

"Right!" the man exclaimed, excited. "You remembered?"

"Well, it's not exactly a common name," Dave opined, "and it's hard to imagine those guys lowering themselves to hang out with a guy named Ralph."

Ralph rolled his eyes, mock embarrassment, and laughed. "Dave, right?"

"Yeah, now, see, _that's_ impressive," Dave nearly exclaimed. "I've got one of the most common names out there, and you remembered it."

"Well, I felt kinda bad for the way those guys talked to you."

"You know, you _could_ do a little better in the friend department," Dave suggested.

"Yeah I know," Ralph nodded. "Maybe that's why I'm here and not there."

Dave smiled and nodded agreement as his beer arrived, disarmed and feeling suddenly human again.

The two took seats next to each other at the bar, eventually ordering appetizers: nachos and stuffed potato skins.

"Hey, you ever talk to that guy you were asking about last week?" Ralph asked.

"No," Dave's answer was quick.

"I don't know that guy well, but he always seemed like a nice guy."

Dave was silent but observing, nodding.

"Some people like to make fun out of him I guess," Ralph added, "but he always seemed like a decent guy to me."

Dave nodded again. "I've had my share of people mocking me."

"Looking at you, that doesn't sound too wise on their part," Ralph observed. "Looks like you could do some damage."

Dave smirked, almost smug. "Well, you saw me being made fun of in action last week."

"Yeah, I also saw you threaten the guy who mouthed off at you," Ralph grinned. "That was sweet. He'd had it coming for a long time. We all knew that."

"Well, then, if you all knew that, why was _I_ the one that put him in his place?" Dave asked, almost rhetorically. "Wait, I'll answer that. He was the one making the rules for that little clique, and the rest of you were too busy following to think for yourselves."

Ralph's smile fell to a crumpled smirk. "Yeah. I'm not gonna fight that one. You got me there. And I guess my solution is just not to hang with the guy any more, so I guess I'm still a coward."

"Naw, doesn't make you a coward," Dave responded, no longer confrontational. "Just means you're evolving, that's all." Dave turned and looked from Ralph's face downward and back up. "And you look more comfortable in the casual-clothes than you looked last week."

Ralph smiled, almost a giggle. "I feel better with the present company as well."

* * *

It was well past midnight, actually closer to two o'clock when Dave returned to his apartment, quietly opening the door to see Scoop in front of the television. Though Scoop appeared to be asleep, his voice surprised Dave as he crept as quietly as he could toward the hallway.

"Hey, Dave."

"Oh, man," Dave nearly jumped. "What's up, Scoop? Thought you were asleep."

"I was kinda half-asleep. This is the third night in a row that you've come in kinda late, just about sneaking in. You've been out every night this week, when you are here you're quiet and secretive, and I don't think we've said anything to each other of substance since sometime last week." Scoop sat upright and shifted to a farther side of the couch, signaling to Dave. "Dave. Sit. Talk."

Dave nodded and shrugged like a kid who'd been busted doing something mildly wrong by a teacher; he sat on the couch, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Okay, Dave, I know you feel responsible for Chuck leaving the band despite what I've told you," Scoop spoke, a serious tone. "Maybe that makes hanging out with me and the other people awkward or something. I also know the last time we all hung out last week was kind-of a disaster. I know the thing with your parents hit you hard." Scoop exhaled loudly.

Dave was silent, eyes fixed forward.

"I guess you're looking to meet some people on your own level or something," Scoop continued. "I mean, You're my best friend, but I know I can't understand your experience like other gay dudes can. Fuck, I'm sorry I think I'm talking in circles or something."

Dave shook his head, looking as if he was about to speak when Scoop spoke again.

"Um, Dave, I guess you're not around, and I kinda think about that, like, are you out late drinking or something? Maybe I'm a little jealous because I might think I'm losing a best friend or something."

"It's nothing like that, Scoop," Dave finally spoke quietly.

"It's just, like, you've always been really protective of me and our friends, and you've always been the rational one who never gets too trashed to think straight, and maybe I feel like it's my turn to be protective, but, then, I don't know what you're up to and you haven't been talking and..."

"Dude, stop, please," Dave spoke, loud enough to cut Scoop off in mid-sentence. Dave audibly drew a breath and exhaled loudly before speaking again. "So, still no replacement for Chuck?"

"Not yet," Scoop answered, sounding almost relieved that the conversation was on more familiar territory again. "We're trying out some people tomorrow."

"Chuck still running his mouth? Making things difficult for you?"

"Nah, seems to have quieted down. He can only complain for so long before everyone gets sick of it. Besides, it's his word against three other guys'. Otherwise, he and Emily moved in together."

Dave rolled his eyes and chuckled, shaking his head, nearly smiling.

"They deserve each other," Scoop expressed. "They'll drive each other nuts in no time. They're gonna need to hire a tailor to sew them a straitjacket-built-for-two."

Dave snickered at the mental image. "They might enjoy that. Can you imagine Chuck yelling, 'Emi-LEE!'" Dave verbally mocked Chuck's rage-voice.

"Gee, Dave, thanks for that adding that," Scoop laughed. "I never considered the kink-potential. You _are_ hanging out in leather bars, aren't you?"

Dave laughed, full-on for a moment. "No, nothing like that."

Scoop's laughter calmed, and he spoke again, earnest. "Dave, man, I guess what I said before, I'm worried about you, and I don't know how to approach talking to you about it because I've never had to do that. You're the guy that's always sensible and talks to _me_ when I'm all messed-up. I'm trying not to let the fact that you're gay have anything to do with this, but I can't help thinking that it does." Scoop paused. "You're not seeing someone, are you? Because if you are, I think you'd tell me. You know I'd be cool with that, right?"

After several seconds of silence Dave spoke. "You remember that John guy I went out with a couple of times a few weeks back?"

Scoop's face scrunched, a mixture of a thinking expression and confoundedness. "That red-haired guy with the beard from the Tardis Bar? The wackjob? You're not going out with _him_?"

Dave let out a snort at Scoop's blunt characterization. "No," Dave's face sobered, "but I'm looking for him."

"Oh, man, you're not hung up on him are you?" Scoop sounded simultaneously sympathetic and pitying. "Dude, you can do way better than..."

"Let me explain," Dave interjected. "Last week I was at a bar, and I overheard some guys talking about him. I guessed they were friends of his. I came up in the conversation, and I didn't like what I heard."

"What did they say?" Scoop became suddenly animated as if wanting to take to the streets at that late hour and hunt John down himself.

Dave shook his head and raised his hands in a settling gesture toward Scoop. "They didn't really say anything specific other than they were just kinda laughing at me like I'm some kinda joke." Dave and Scoop stilled as Dave expanded. "I know I shouldn't care, I should just let it go, but it's been bugging the crap outta me. I was nothing but nice to this guy, and I didn't hold anything against him. Hearing his friends joke about me when me and him never did anything beyond having coffee and lunch together was just fucking..." Dave shook his head, searching for the right words which never came. "It was just fucking with me. I want to talk to him, but I don't even know what I'm gonna say to him when I find him. _If_ I find him."

"Don't do anything crazy," Scoop followed quickly, a nervousness in his voice.

"I'm not gonna do anything nuts," Dave assured. "I might yell at him or something. I might not even do _that_."

"Dude, he's not worth it," Scoop countered.

"Yeah, I know," Dave nodded, seeming fully aware of the truth of Scoop's statement and the absurdity of his quest.

"Well, then," Scoop paused a long moment before finishing, "why's it bothering you so much?"

"I guess because there were always people in the community who made me feel unwelcome," Dave answered. "There were people who were kind to me, sure. The older guys were always nice to me. The guys my own age, though, some of them were polite enough, but even they usually made me feel clueless. And, yeah, some guys were just fucking rotten to me. It's like if I could go back now and tell them the fuck off, I would. And yeah, maybe I'm projecting everything I feel against all of those guys onto this one guy, but I feel like I gotta do something."

Scoop nodded, silent and resigned before speaking. "I gotcha. Do what you gotta do. Just don't, like, get arrested or something, okay?"

"I'm not that crazy," Dave spoke with a chuckle. "I'll probably just talk to him rationally and tell him what a fuckup I think he is."

Scoop laughed. "Oh, _do that_. _Definitely_. If you tell him in a civil tone of voice, it'll freak him out, especially if he thinks you're gonna go ballistic or something. He probably _knows_ he has it coming if he ever runs into you again."

"I think he saw me a couple of days ago at the library and took off running when he realized it was me. I didn't get a good look at him, but I'm pretty sure it was him."

"Oh, shit," Scoop nodded, confident, "then he _knows_ he has it coming."

Dave smiled crooked, almost mischievous. "You ever tell off any of the girls that fucked with your head?"

Scoop let out a chortle. "Nah. I've thought about it many times, but I never did. Most of the time, it would have just made me seem immature or something. There are a couple of them, though, I would have liked to tell what I really think of them." Scoop paused and addressed Dave with a sardonic grin of his own. "I mean, I'd still really like to tell them."

Dave's smile lessened in intensity as he addressed Scoop's face. "Why can't gay dudes be more like you? This dating thing would be a _lot_ easier if they were."

Scoop grinned wider. "Yeah, well, women just make me crazy. Sometimes it kinda makes me wish I _was_ gay." Dave laughed at Scoop's assessment, and Scoop furthered, "And _you_ don't help matters, being so damned sensible."

Scoop stood from the couch and patted Dave's shoulder. "I'm gonna go crash. Take it easy, don't be such a stranger, and don't do anything nuts, okay? Hang out with me and the guys sometime. Get your mind off this crazy stuff. Sometimes bros-before-hoes is not such a bad approach."

"Yeah, yeah," Dave dragged the response; he remained seated. "If I can't track him down soon, I'll forget about it. Wasted time. Thanks for talking, Scoop. You might have talked some sense into me after all."

"I owed you one. Hell, I owe you more than that, but it's a start. See you tomorrow."

"G'night, Scoop."

Dave remained seated on the couch for a few minutes, cataloging the events of the last week. Either he was close to finding John or he was close to giving up. He hadn't lost interest; on the contrary: the appetite to confront John had intensified mid-week. The trail, however, seemed somewhat exhausted, and aside from camping outside the building where John worked, whose precise location Dave didn't know, or surprising John by arriving at one of his church services, something Dave couldn't envision himself doing even if he was irrationally obsessed, Dave felt that he'd retire the pursuit if the next evening's visit to Barrelheads yielded no results.

* * *

After a fairly typical Saturday morning and afternoon consisting of running, a visit to the laundromat, and an early-evening nap, Dave dressed casually and departed for Barrelheads. It was fully dark and nearing nine o'clock when he parked his car along the street next to the building. He could hear music and the sounds of a singer coming from inside the club as he approached the entryway.

* * *

_Referenced music:  
"City Kids" by Motörhead  
"Every Rose Has Its Thorn" by Poison_


	6. Kiss Off

**Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.**

**The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.**

**Thank you.**

**The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series _Glee_.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 10,600**

* * *

_I said you can't hide on the inside  
__All the pain you've ever felt  
__Ransom my heart, baby don't look back  
_'_cause we got nobody else_

Dave approached the bar at Barrelheads, prepared to scan the room for John, but his attention was drawn to the voice coming from the stage area where there was a fair, thick-built, blonde man, singing into the microphone. The man's voice was downright arresting.

The tables toward the front of the room at the foot of the stage were crowded, filled with fashionable and flamboyant young persons, colorfully attired, applauding, flailing their arms, and visibly reacting in other ways to the man on the stage. Progressing from the stage to the bar, the tables were more sparsely filled but still largely occupied, their occupants dressed in more conventional manner and their visible reaction to the man on the stage more reserved but still obviously approving.

"Can I get cha something?" the bartender nearly yelled in Dave's direction, breaking his attention from the music.

"Uh, yeah," Dave replied, caught off-guard. "You have Rolling Rock?"

The bartender nodded and returned in a moment, handing Dave a bottle, taking the twenty-dollar bill Dave left on the bar, and returning change. Dave's attention was pulled again into the voice of the man on the stage.

_You know that sometimes, it feels like  
__It's all moving way too fast  
__Use every alibi and words you deny  
__That love ain't meant to last_

"You guys drink Rolling Rock all the way out here?"

Dave's attention was snagged by a bespectacled tall, thin, long-haired man who was clad entirely in black, wearing a fedora tipped low over his forehead.

"Uh, _yeah_," Dave was caught again off-guard. "I'm not originally from around here."

"Sorry if I startled you," the man's unshaven face broke a slight smile, approachable.

"Nah, it's cool," Dave answered, nodding toward the stage. "I was just kinda stunned by this guy's voice."

The man smiled wider. "He's good, isn't he?"

"I don't know crap about music formally, but, yeah, he's amazing."

The tall man snickered. "Tell him that when he's done. He'll be headed this way, and he'll appreciate hearing it."

"Really? You know him?" Dave's curiosity mildly piqued.

The man smiled again. "Yeah. He's by boyfriend."

Dave smiled wider but silently nodded slowly in reaction, simultaneously taken aback by the man's bluntness and also disarmed by it."

"My name's Dan," the man held out his right hand, and Dave accepted the handshake, his smile relaxing, becoming less nervous and more natural.

"Dave. Nice to meet you."

As the two dropped their handshake, Dave returned to face the stage area again as Dan flagged the bartender and ordered two drinks.

_We're running with the shadows of the night  
__So baby take my hand, you'll be alright  
__Surrender all your dreams to me tonight  
__They'll come true in the end  
__And now the hands of time are standin' still  
__Midnight angel, won't you say you will?_

As the song ended, the room filled with applause, particularly the section of more animated and colorful people sitting near the foot of the stage erupted, shaking hands with the singer as he moved slowly through a near-mob of smiling faces, finally making his way to the bar area.

"Sounded great, as always," Dan said to the smiling blonde man while passing to him a freshly-delivered drink as he approached the bar.

"You were _awesome_," Dave said, almost timid, smiling slightly at the man as he took his drink from Dan.

"Thank you!" the man spoke, bright, at Dave.

"Dave, meet my partner _David_," Dan introduced the two as they shook hands. "David, this is _Dave_. He walked in while you were mid-song, and we've been talking a little."

"Nice to meet you, Dave," the blonde man said, smiling.

"Same," Dave replied, somewhat awkward but friendly. "First time I've been to one of these things here. Do you guys come here often?"

Dan laughed and shook his head, addressing Dave. "No, we're from out of town. We're on our way to Seattle to meet some friends who I met online a couple of years back. They vacation every year in Seattle, and David and I thought we'd plan a trip to meet them finally. We're just in Portland for the night."

"Ah," Dave nodded. "Where are you guys from?"

"Pittsburgh," Dan answered. "The friends we're meeting up with in Seattle are from Texas."

"Well, I'm originally from Ohio, but I go to school out here in PSU," Dave spoke to the pair, "I haven't been out east in years literally."

"But it explains your choice in beer," David noted, smiling and nodding at the bottle in Dave's hand.

"Hey, that was excellent!" a pretty young blonde woman interjected, friendly, as she joined the small group, shaking hands with David. Her voice had the sophistication of a subtle French accent; behind her was a handsome, smiling, dark-haired man with a few day's growth of beard; he was voicing equal enthusiasm at David's singing, though more quietly than the blonde woman he was with.

David nodded and voiced thanks to the pair.

"Dave, meet Cassandra and Frederick," Dan introduced, "a couple of other Portland transients that David and I met at the bar before his name was called up for him to sing."

Dave smiled and shook their hands, first the young woman, then the young man who accompanied her. "Nice to meet you. So, you're not from here either?"

"We're from Canada," Frederick offered, smiling and friendly.

"We're on our way to Irvine, California to take part in a yearly charity event," Cassandra completed. "We wound up in Portland for the night and ended up at this place."

"Really nice city you people have," David spoke to Dave.

"Yeah, I enjoy it here," Dave replied to the entire group, collectively. "Way better than where I came from."

Though the music had resumed on the stage, several songs had passed while the five people were grouped around a small area at the bar. Given the immediate distraction, Dave had forgotten about his reason for being at Barrelheads this evening.

Five or six songs might have passed as the group of them talked, sometimes boisterously, among themselves before their attention was collectively drawn to the stage again. A small, petite woman with jet-black hair in a classic bob-hairstyle dressed in black jeans with a black leather vest over a bright pink shirt was literally ripping through a power-ballad on the stage. Her voice was strong, and the emotion in her performance was stunning.

_I hear the ticking of the clock  
__I'm lying here the room's pitch dark  
__I wonder where you are tonight  
__No answer on the telephone  
__And the night goes by so very slow  
__Oh I hope that it won't end though  
__Alone_

* * *

John had arrived at Barrelheads at least an hour earlier, maybe closer to ninety minutes earlier. He'd arrived by himself. Karaoke was a kind-of all-purpose balm for him: something he could enjoy with a group of friends but also something that worked just as well when he went by himself, a sort-of introspective catharsis. It helped that he was good, good enough to be recognized and consistently appreciated by the regular crowd at Barrelheads.

Earlier in the evening, he'd been sitting my himself at the bar when some friends had arrived separately and coerced him into joining them at their table, near the stage but at the far right of the room. He sat with the group though obviously isolated, largely quiet, interacting only when called-upon. In their revelry, his friends didn't register John's general silence as it was not uncommon for the sometimes-moody John to project quiet and serious. His mood was dark despite the gregariousness of his friends, and the present song, being sung to death by the tiny girl with a huge voice on the stage was pummeling his mind.

_You don't know how long I have wanted  
__To touch your lips and hold you tight, oh  
__You don't know how long I have waited  
__And I was gonna tell you tonight  
__But the secret is still my own  
__And my love for you is still unknown  
__Alone_

_Fuck,_ John thought to himself, _and how fucking typical and absurdly appropriate. _The song's words cataloged the litany of his current state of silent agitation. Spying Dave at the Hound & Butterfly a week ago, seeing him in the library earlier in the week and running like a damned insane person when he did, and this song conjuring the sick dichotomy in his feelings: the idealization he'd attached to Dave and the rage and jealously he felt toward him. John boiled.

_Till now I always got by on my own  
__I never really cared until I met you  
__And now it chills me to the bone  
__How do I get you alone?  
__How do I get you alone?_

* * *

Even before the song had properly ended, the occupants of Barrelheads were on their feet and nearly roaring approval at the girl's performance. Dave and his group of new acquaintences applauded from their station at the bar.

"That was pretty amazing," Dan chimed as he clapped his hands loudly, an almost astonished expression.

"Yeah, it was," David agreed as the others nodded and clapped as well.

"Let's hear it for Nancy-Ann," the karaoke host spoke from the stage as she was handed a slip of paper to call the next singer to the stage. "Next we have John Eighty-seven."

Dave's attention was caught and drawn suddenly at the announcement. He saw a familiar figure stand from a table to the right of the stage as several of the flamboyant and excitable patrons at the front stood and clapped.

It was John, but he had attitude as he approached the microphone, almost a game-face. He waved and shook hands with some of the people at the front while wearing an aloof expression. This was unlike the person Dave knew: John was confident, almost confrontational in his swagger.

"Hey, this is a cool song," Dan smiled as the music began; Dave however was too absorbed in the immediate to notice the reaction of those around him.

_I need someone, a person to talk to  
__Someone who'd care to love  
__Could it be you?  
__Could it be you?  
__The situation gets rough, and I start to panic  
__It's not enough, it's just a habit  
__And, kid, you're sick  
__Well, darling, this is it_

John's voice was strong, almost inappropriately trained and formal for a long such as this one, but his conviction, however affected (or natural) it might have been, made the incongruity immaterial.

_Well, you can all just kiss off in the air  
__Behind my back, I can see them stare  
__They'll hurt me bad, but I don't mind  
__They'll hurt me bad, they do it all the time, yeah, yeah!  
__Yeah, they do it all the time, yeah, yeah!  
__They do it all the time, do it all the time!  
__They do it all the time, do it all the time..._

_Is Dave here?_

Dave shook his head, a double-take, unsure of what he'd just heard: did John just call him out, mid-song?

_I hope you know that this will go down on your permanent... record.  
__Oh, yeah? Well, don't get so distressed  
__Did I happen to mention that I'm impressed?_

The following left no doubt in Dave's mind that John was singing to someone specific, whether John was aware that the projected recipient of that statement was in the same room or not.

_Hey, Dave!_

His name called again, there was no question this time.

_I take one, one, one 'cause you left me  
__And two, two, two for my family  
__And three, three, three for my heartache  
__And four, four, four for my headaches  
__And five, five, five for my lonely  
__And six, six, six for my sorrow  
__And seven, seven, n-n-n-n-no tomorrow  
__And eight, eight, I forget what eight was for  
__But nine, nine, nine for the lost gods  
__Ten, ten, ten, ten for everything, everything, everything, everything!_

At this, Dave stood apart from the others at the bar, now transfixed, shaking he head slightly. He'd found the person he'd come to Barrelheads seeking, and this display served to compound what he'd inferred from the disastrous conversation with the pretty-boys at HM Massacres a week ago.

_Well, you can all just kiss off in the air  
__Behind my back, I can see them stare  
__They'll hurt me bad, but I don't mind  
__They'll hurt me bad, they do it all the time, yeah, yeah!_

It was at this point that John, looking outward from the stage, addressing the crowd though no one specific, recognized the unmistakable silhouette of a solitary figure standing at the back of the room, several feet away from the bar. _Oh, fuck. Dave is here._ Jolted by this but unable and unwilling to abandon his current station and the sentiment of the words he sang, John pressed onward, rage and downright snottiness becoming progressively apparent in his intensity as he continued.

_Yeah, they do it all the time, yeah, yeah!  
__They do it all the time, do it all the time!  
__They do it all the time, do it all the time!  
__They do it all the time!_

The music had not yet ceased when the people at the front stood and began applauding. Simultaneously, Dave made a few wide strides in the direction of the stage. John's facade of composure fell to slight panic, and he darted toward a side, leaving the microphone stand to wobble precariously, nearly dropping to the floor, as the karaoke host jumped to the stage to stabilize it.

Once off the stage, the light was significantly dimmed; it felt like darkness to John's maladjusted eyes, but he could see the lighted sign over the emergency exit. He pushed his way through a dense crowd and areas of tables, ignoring the sign which stated that the door was only to be used in case of an emergency, and pushed into the darkness of the alley outside the building, feeling a minor consolation that the action didn't set off any alarms.

John stopped silent, barely breathing though wanting to pant, pressing himself against the brick wall just outside the emergency exit, listening to hear if he was being followed. The exit door made no sound. Still pressed against the wall, he inched his way toward the back of the building where he was fairly certain that there was no likely exit route for Dave.

He waited at the rear of the building for a moment, seeing the doors which led into the Barrelheads' kitchen, opened for ventilation, a few yards from the enclosed dumpster area. John could faintly hear the sound of another song beginning over the noise of the kitchen. He stealthily stepped around the corner and toward the front facade of the building, not sure how much time had passed. Certainly if Dave had tried to follow him, John would have heard or seen something by now.

John stopped. He could see out into the street in front of the building, but was himself shielded from being seen by the corner of the structure. He needed to get out of the place area as quickly as he could, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Internally, he felt his actions in the club were justified, but, then, putting his irrational feelings on public display in front of someone who was never intended to see them was, in truth, embarrassing, despite how emboldened it made him feel in the moment. And, damn it, he just _had_ to call Dave out by name, didn't he?

John fumbled for his cell phone, unlocking the screen and searching among his contacts for someone who could possibly pick him up and ride him back to his loft. Or anywhere, really, that was a place other than where he presently was.

"I'll take that," John heard as an arm reached around the corner and snatched his cell phone from his hands.

"Hey," John spat, squeaked almost, panicked as he saw Dave walking away with his cell phone, his face illuminated by the glow of the screen. "Give that back!"

"Screen's unlocked," Dave spoke as he broke into a quick pace, almost jogging to his car. "That was very thoughtful of you."

"What are you doing?" John squealed again as he sprang to follow Dave, vainly, as Dave reached his car, jumped into the driver's seat, and locked the doors.

"That is my phone," John hissed, slapping the window, "Give it back."

"Nope," Dave spoke, concise, as he produced his own phone and lit the screen, scrolling and poking at it with the thumb of his right hand while he held John's phone in his left, his concentration and eyes darting from one phone to the other.

"This is an invasion of privacy," John whined, sounding particularly feeble. "I'll sue."

After a moment passed, Dave slid his phone into his shirt pocket as the screen on John's dimmed. He craned his head upward, facing John and pushed the button, lowering his window about an inch. "I'm a college student. All my money goes to student loans. Good luck with that suing-me thing. You want your phone back? Get your ass in the car." Dave pressed the button on his door and the doors unlocked with a mechanical chunk.

John blinked. "Fine," he said walking to the passenger side, collapsing into the seat, and slamming himself in the car. "I'm not giving you road head."

Dave snorted a tight-lipped laugh, kept hold of John's phone in his left hand, using a knuckle to roll up his window. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm not about to do you any favors."

John's expression fell from nervous to near-disgust. "What the hell? Think a little much of yourself?"

Dave turned his head to address John directly, a nearly smug expression with penetrating eyes and a raised eyebrow. "Tell me you haven't thought about it."

John was stunned, mouth gaping, suddenly no longer confrontational, showing the fear of his feelings being revealed.

Dave moved quickly, before John could react, clamping the sides of John's head in his hands and pulling him forward, Dave pressing his lips hard against John's. The kiss lingered for some seconds as John grunted sounds of protest which quieted to a murmur as he succumbed to it over the better part of a minute. There was no tenderness in this kiss: it was punishing.

Dave's hands freed John as quickly as they had seized him, their lips parting in the same action. John looked away, quickly, toward the floor of the car, shaken and reduced by Dave's kiss. He spoke meekly. "I...I d...don't know. Maybe you're holding my phone hostage, and I don't have my numbers saved other places."

"You _think_ this is about your _phone_?" Dave replied, pointed. "What the fuck did I just see and hear in there?" Dave jerked his head toward Barrelheads as John ran his palms nervously over his thighs. "You sang a song about somebody who fucked you over, and called _me_ out by name, not once, but _twice_, just in case I missed it the first time, I guess. Unless, of course, you were singing about some _other_ Dave, in which case I can't imagine why you looked so fucking guilty when you saw me watching from the bar. And, _yeah_, I saw you run away from me at the Q Center Library the other day."

The doors locked with the click of a button when John tried to pull his open.

"You're not getting out of this that easily," Dave spoke, somber, clinical.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"I'll yell."

"Then do it."

"Okay," John nearly yelled though he was still facing forward, eyes staring into the floor beneath the dashboard. "Okay. I'm fucking irrationally jealous, and you happened to witness my way of dealing with it first-hand. You weren't supposed to see that but you fucking did." John felt suddenly stronger for a moment, turning toward Dave. "And what the hell are you doing here tonight anyway?"

"I went looking for you," Dave sounded almost accusing. "I talked to Mack, I talked to the people at the Q Center, I tried calling a couple of churches, I talked to some kinda-creepy guy named Rich who writes trivia questions at that Dr. Who bar. This was the last stop. If I didn't find you here tonight, that would have been the end of it."

"_Why_ were you looking for _me_?" John nearly whispered, stunned.

"Why don't _you_ tell _me_ what you've got to be irrational and jealous about and how _that_ has anything to do with _me_," Dave spoke, clear and pointed. "I have a feeling it all starts with that anyway."

John shook his head and returned his gaze into the space before, letting out a flustered-sounding huff before speaking. When he did speak, his words were quiet but clear and quickly delivered, prissy-sounding, accusing. "The last time I called you, you said you had plans. I saw you later that night at the Hound & Butterfly shooting pool with some guys and having a good time. One of them looked like he was making a fuss over you, and you looked like you were enjoying it. I'm _human_. I got _jealous_."

"I don't answer to you, and I don't owe you any explanation." Dave's words were direct and measured as he shook his head slightly.

"I...I know," John began quietly before Dave cut him off quickly.

"Let me talk. Even though I owe you _nothing_, I'll tell you what happened. I came out to my friends a few weeks ago."

"I thought you were out to your friends."

"Will you let me talk?" Dave snapped, pointed, losing patience. "I was out to my roommate, my _best_ friend. I wanted to be out in the open with my other friends. Anyway, I hadn't hung out with them since I told them so I was hanging out with them the night the night you called me."

"Those guys at Hound & Butterfly are your regular friends?"

"Damn it, quit interrupting me!" Dave glared.

"Sorry," John exhaled meekly.

"_Anyway_, I was with my friends at the Tap Room, first time I was hanging with them since I came out to them, and it felt weird. I had to leave, okay. And I wanted to get outta the weird state of mind it put me in. I had made some friends recently and texted one of them. That's how I ended up at the Hound & Butterfly." Dave paused for a moment before adding, "I might have texted _you_ except, uh, that's right, I didn't have your number."

John lowered his head and exhaled slightly at the obvious statement. "Look, I didn't want to hurt you, alright?"

"_What?_ You think you _hurt_ me? Fuck. Self-important? Much. Your whack-job behavior toward me directly is just the surface apparently. A week ago I was at HM Massacres when I overheard some guys talking about you. Apparently, you'd been kinda _boisterous_ there. Then, somehow _I _came up in their conversation."

John turned and looked at Dave, stunned.

"Yeah, not by name, but apparently a couple of weeks before, you'd been bragging about some awesome guy you were dating, unless, of course, you were seeing some other guy that roughly fits the description of a 'dreamy-eyed bear' at the same time you'd gone out with me."

John looked away into the dark space beneath the dashboard before him, silent.

"So, these guys at this bar, well, guys like me are apparently some kinda joke to them. I can't measure up to their elite standard, and the impression I got was that you were in on the joke."

"God, Dave, no," John slowly protested. "I don't hang out with guys like that. I know some of them, but..."

"Do you know that one of the fucking things that I thought I left behind in Ohio was the fact that all of the gay guys I knew there thought they were so much better than me because I don't fit the mold? Sure, there were some older guys that liked me, but all of the guys that were my age considered me to be some kinda freak. One of them thought he could help me turn into an acceptable gay man by giving me hairstyling hints and telling me what kinda music I should be listening to. Most of them wouldn't give me the time of day. One of them advised me, with a smile on his face and a pat on my shoulder, to go back in the closet. A week ago, I get the same thing from a group of trendies here in Portland, and your name comes up in part of the same conversation. You know, I hadn't thought about you in two fucking weeks. I'd totally written you off and forgot about you; but, then, within the span of two days, I get a phone call from you, and I heard that shit at Massacres, and I got pissed off. So I figured I'd look for you and find out what the fuck your problem with me is. And after all that, you're here just sitting around looking to vent your unwarranted jealousy in front of a crowd, so bent on being on your damn stage. Frankly, though, I'm not sure what I just witnessed in there."

"You weren't supposed to see that," John offered again, meek.

"Well, I _did_.You know, calling me out by name like that in the middle of an angry song with your admirers fawning over you kinda goes some distance to support the idea that you, like those trendy fucks at Massacres, were taking me as the poster-child for how-not-to-queer."

"Maybe that's my own way of dealing with things," John countered, suddenly defensive. "I know I conducted myself badly and messed things up where you're concerned. And, yeah, I've thought about having off-the-hook monkey sex with you, but I know that's not gonna happen, especially now after I've fucked all of this up. So, maybe I know that I can go and sing in front of a bunch of people who like me, even if it's just for that moment. Maybe that's how I rationalize feeling like I fucked up. Maybe that's how I can get something good out of my failure. Maybe it's artistic vindication for me."

"Screwy as that logic is, that's interesting. Really messed-up. By day you want a fairy-tale romance and by night you're reveling in some alternate persona as a trash-queen. Real fallen-angel, homecoming-queen's-got-a-gun, Lifetime Movie Network dichotomy you've got going on, with artistic terrorism thrown into the mix as well. Well, here's the newsflash: we're all sluts in our own minds, and there's no shame in that. You're not shocking anyone, least of all me."

"I can't argue with any of that. I don't have a credible case." John spoke quietly again, sounding almost exhausted, definitely discovered. "I'd never think I'm better than you or look down on you like those other guys, but I know how it must look."

"But you can sing some self-pity anthem directed at me as long as you're surrounded by your friends and fans."

"Like I said, you weren't supposed to see that," John repeated again earlier, sounding more certain this time. "I feel almost violated that you _did_ see it."

"Why?"

"Because it was _my_ world you happened upon," John defended.

"Oh, so outsiders aren't welcome in your little exclusive, insulated circle," Dave nodded, a smirk audible in his tone. "Maybe you _do_ think you're better than me after all."

John shook his head as he followed the curl of Dave's fingers all the way up to arm, shoulder and then their eyes met. "Can I go now, please? Can I go back to my fucking life? Let me forget you. Let me just be alone. It's what I deserve for what I did."

"_God_, you're melodramatic," Dave snapped, his laughter apparent but crushed by his own words. "You're free to go. I unlocked the doors a while ago when you were carrying on about fantasies of monkey-sex and rationalizing your misplaced feelings of abandonment on a stage."

John shook his head. "You shouldn't have had to chase me down and steal my phone just to get my number."

"That was unplanned," Dave answered, assured. "The opportunity presented itself, and it just felt right at the time."

"That's kinda fucked-up."

Dave laughed. "Look who's talking. You act like you're the be-all-end-all of basket cases and yet you still get in my car. We're beyond the point where my ass should give a crap what your ass does. At the bottom of everything, the only _tangible_ thing I was missing out of all of this _was_ your phone number, and now I've got it. Now we're even. Maybe I'll call you, and maybe I won't."

"You dragged all of that out of me just to get my fucking phone number?"

"Not really. The phone number thing was an unitended consequence. I didn't want your phone number because I plan on using it necessarily. I wanted it because me having it gives me some sense of justice. It's the _least_ you owed me."

"That's kind-of a bastard thing to do."

"Once again, look who's talking."

"Well, fine. Yes, that's good. I know I'm a jerk, I'll take it. Just give me my phone back so I can go."

"Sure," Dave reached his hand toward John, offering the phone.

John's face puzzled as he took the phone from Dave's hand. "That's it?"

"Yeah, Something like that," Dave answered. "We're closer to even now."

John shook his head as he slid the phone into his pocket, opened the car door, stepped out onto the sidewalk and slammed the door shut. "I mistook you for a good guy."

Dave laughed again, almost a giggle. "Well, then, maybe we _are_ even."

* * *

It was before midnight when Dave returned to his apartment, pulling his car into a space on the street and shutting the engine off. He sat for a moment inside his car, realizing how early it was for him to be home on a Saturday night, but not feeling especially interested in being anywhere else. He produced his cell phone and unlocked the screen, accessed his list of contacts and found John's number, promptly accessing and deleting it from his list: the last action in a closed chapter.

He stepped into his apartment to find it quiet and empty: Scoop was likely out with their other friends. Dave walked to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed a can of beer. He popped it open and moved into the living room, flopping downward into a sitting-position on the couch. The room was dim, the only light pooling from a table lamp. Dave was calm, and he felt a sense of closure, accomplishment. He thought about turning on the television, but he was enjoying the quiet moment too much to disturb it.

The silence of the moment lasted mere minutes as Scoop noisily returned home, using the deck entrance, himself opening the refrigerator and popping open a can of beer before walking into the living room to find Dave seated on the couch, smiling subtly.

"Hey-hey, Dave, How goes?" Scoop's voice was playful though quiet. "You're home early. No TV on? Quiet time?"

"What are you talkin' about, you're in early too for a Saturday night," Dave snickered. "I just got in a few minutes ago. Going okay with me. You?"

Scoop spun himself gracelessly and landed in the chair perpendicular to the couch, lifting his can of beer and producing a slurping noise as he drank before speaking. "Yeah, just hanging with the guys. We're trying out some bass players tomorrow so none of us wanted to be out late." Scoop gurgled another swig from the can. "You said you just got in. Where were you tonight?"

"I was at this bar that does karaoke every Saturday night. I tracked down the whack-job guy."

"No shit?" Scoop became animated. "What happened?"

Dave shrugged, a trace of a smug grin on his face. "I watched him sing some really angry song about me. When he realized I was in the club, he went running, and I chased him down. I took his cell phone off of him, stole his number, and gave him his phone back."

Scoop shook his head, baffled. "What? You're not actually gonna _call_ that guy, are you?"

"No. I deleted his number from my phone as soon as I got back here."

"Then what was the point of the whole thing?"

"Artistic vindication."

"Whoa. Heavy." Scoop paused for a moment, staring into the space before him. "So, like, he sang some angry song about you?"

"Well, he called my name out twice while he was singing some punky song about being abandoned or something."

"I'm guessing that you didn't just take his phone and steal his phone number," Scoop hypothesized, "I'm going to assume that you had some kinda talk with him."

"Yeah, we talked. He said that the song was his way of rationalizing his jealousy and anger after seeing me out with some other friends one night. Everything else was apparently some misunderstanding, at least as he tells it."

"Did you yell at him?" Scoop asked, almost excited."

"Nah," Dave snickered. "I was pretty composed the whole time. The only times I almost lost my temper were when he kept interrupting me. Dude talks too much. Anyway, it ended with him calling me a bastard and me thinking that was kinda funny."

Scoop shook his head and gazed thoughtully for a moment before addressing Dave. "It's good to know that psychotic behavior isn't exclusive to the world of heterosexual relationships."

"Yeah," Dave laughed aloud. "All of those gay-fetishizing, romance-novel readers would have a really rude wake-up call if they knew the truth."

* * *

"Hey," John spoke across his loft to Katie as he peeked into the oven, "you doing anything Tuesday?"

Katie swallowed a sip of chardonnay as she sat at the breakfast bar, patiently awaiting the arrival of John's latest dinner experiment. "No plans. Why? What's up?"

John stood and turned, walking toward Katie and addressing her directly. "They're showing _Gimme Shelter_ at the Hollywood. I've never seen it, and I should, with its reputation as a legendary documentary and me being a fledgling documentary filmmaker."

Katie shook her head while downing another sip of wine. "Saw it. Great movie, and I dig the Stones, but I never need to see it again. Too fucked-up, and too real-and-up-close to disaster for my taste."

"I'll just fly solo then. Wouldn't be the first time. Besides, it's not like I'm going for entertainment or anything. My interest in that kinda stuff is strictly research and historical value."

"Oh, it's got historical value," Katie confirmed. "Did you go to Barrelheads last night?"

"Yeah," John almost snorted, reaching into the oven and pulling out the tray of mini-pizzas topped with pulled pork, barbecue sauce, and cheddar cheese. "That was some real-and-up-close disaster."

"Why? What happened?"

"Ah, that guy I went out with a few weeks back was there," John spoke, head tucked downward as he carried a serving plate of mini-pizzas to the breakfast bar.

"Yeah? _And?_" Katie's tone had perked, excited.

"Um, he caught me singing a really angry song."

"So?" Katie eyed the serving plate curiously, inhaling the steamy aura rising from the food. "So you sang an angry song. I'm sure you sung the hell out of it. That's a good thing, right?"

"Well, I kinda called him out during it."

"_What?"_ Katie's attention pulled from the food before her at John's words. "What were you angry with _him_ for?"

John shook his head and inhaled as he collected plates and silverware, bringing them to the breakfast counter. "Really, I shouldn't have been angry with him. I saw him out with some people one night, having a good time, and I got irrationally jealous, like, why couldn't that have been me? Anyway, that was my way of dealing with it. Getting up and singing a song about it."

"Don't you think that was kinda _wrong_ of you?" Katie nearly demanded, eyes wide and accusing.

"I never meant for him to see that happen," John countered, defensive. "Had I known he was there, I wouldn't have called him out by name."

Katie snapped her tongue and shook her head slowly, rolling her eyes and gathering her thoughts before speaking again. "Okay, let me make sure I have this right. You went out with this guy a couple of times a few weeks ago. Hadn't thought about him in a while. You see him out with some people having a good time and you got jealous. Why? Because he didn't call you?"

John hung his head and bounced it from side-to-side. "It was kind-of a misunderstanding. I felt like he ditched me to hang with these other guys, but that's not exactly true. He said that he might have called me had I given him my number."

"You never gave him your number?" Katie appeared on the edge of rage at this revelation.

"I thought I told you that."

Katie shook her head in frustration. "That was weeks ago. A lot can change."

"Nah, I called him one night. Asked him out. He declined. That's the night I saw him out with some other guys. It really got to me. I went over to Massacres, got a little drunk and ran my mouth. He got wind of it. Set out looking for me. I saw him at the Q Center library and took off running when I did. Despite that, apparently he saw me there too."

"So, you had no actual reason to be pissed off at this guy, but you called him out while singing 'You Oughta Know' at karaoke?"

"That wasn't the song I sang, but, yeah, pretty-much, that's what happened." John sounded glum. "Then he ran after me, took my phone off of me, and stole my number, even though I'm pretty sure that it was a symbolic act. I doubt he'll ever actually call me."

"So, did you, like, say you're sorry or anything like that?"

"Um, no, I think I called him a bastard at one point."

Katie stood, inhaling loudly with a hissing noise, appearing to be boiling inside. "You're an asshole, John."

John stood silent for a moment, facing Katie as his eyes bugged in surprise before developing a slight scowl. _"What?"_

"You heard me."

"I'm your _friend_ here. You're supposed to _support_ me."

"My friends are _better_ than that," Katie spoke, stern, walking to the other side of the bar to face John directly, her face inches from his. "Part of my job as your friend is to call you out on your bullshit if and when it should happen. _You_ fucked up by acting crazy and not giving this guy your number. You maybe owe him an apology."

"I'm not gonna apologize to him!" John's face betrayed near-shock at the suggestion as his voice heightened in both pitch and volume.

Katie reached for the counter, picking up John's phone and placing it in his hand. "You think he _deserved_ to be treated like your option while you _expected_ to be his priority? You're gonna call him right now. Apologize or explain yourself or maybe even ask him out again."

John shook his head nervously, speaking in a frantic whisper. "I...I can't call him, not _now, _let alone ask him out at this point."

Katie raised her hands and shoved at him, pushing him against the door of his loft, his phone dropping from his hand and landing softly on the shaggy door-mat.

"Ow, hey, what are you doing?"

"Get out of here," Katie shoved harder, pushing his shoulders, and opened the door to the hallway. A final shove, and John was outside the loft with Katie slamming the door and locking him out.

"What'd you lock me out of my own apartment for?" John whined as he slapped the door with his palms and attempted to turn the doorknob. "Let me back in! I'm hungry, and I made dinner, damn it."

"This is tough-love," Katie shouted from the other side of the locked door. "Fix whatever it is that happened with that guy. I don't care if you actually apologize, I don't care if you end up being friends or even friendly. Just admit to being a jerk and make peace with him. Your behavior is horrible. You want to be my friend? You need to be a better person than that."

John slumped against the wall to one side of the door and slid slowly to the floor. "I think I dropped my phone."

The door opened almost immediately, and John's phone dropped from above into his lap. Before John registered the action, the door was closed and locked once again.

"_Call him,"_ Katie demanded from inside the apartment.

"What am I supposed to _say_?" John wailed, childishly toward the closed door.

"I don't know. Ask him out to that movie maybe? Even if he declines, it would constitute a peace-offering from you at least."

"I can't believe you locked me out of my own apartment after I made dinner for us."

"Believe it," Katie underscored. "_Call him._ The sooner you do that, the sooner I let you back in, the sooner you can eat."

"Aww," John whined pathetically, his voice trailing off to a whimper as he took his phone into his hands and unlocked the screen, found Dave's number among the contacts and dialed.

_Hello there. You've reached the voicemail of Dave Karofsky, you lucky dog. I can't take your call right now, but if you leave a message, I'll call you back as soon as I can._

"It went straight to his voicemail," John called back to the closed door.

"Give it five minutes and try again. The pizza will keep."

"But he might be in class or something," John whined, melodramatic.

"It's Sunday afternoon, you dork. No one's in class right now. Try again."

John exhaled and slumped further downward in his sitting position in the hallway, nearly folding himself until his back ached. He touched the redial, and the phone on the other end began to ring.

"Hello?" Dave's familiar voice sounded innocuous enough.

"Uh, hi," John answered nervously.

"Hello?" Dave spoke again, betraying slight impatience.

"Um, it's John. You know, from karaoke last night?"

"Ah, yeah, what can I do for you, John?"

"Um, this is weird, but, um, I was wondering, there's this film they're showing at the Hollywood this week. I've never seen it, but, as a filmmaker, it's on my bucketlist because it's got this reputation as an important documentary. Um, and it's about the Rolling Stones and I know you like rock music and maybe it's of interest to you."

A span of silence followed. it seemed endless before John filled the void.

"I'm planning to go Tuesday night, and if you wanted to join me, that'd be cool."

"What time is it?"

Dave's reply nearly made John exhale loudly with relief, though he tried to breathe as casually-sounding as possible. "It's at eight-thirty."

"Um, maybe," Dave paused; his voice was pleasant, not sounding particularly averse to the suggestion. "I'm not sure if I have anything going on that night or not."

"It's cool," John felt relieved just to hear that Dave was conversing with him in a civil tone. "Just thought I'd throw it out there."

"Tell you what, if I can make it, I'll just show up and meet you there." Dave offered.

"I'll be there either way," John replied, more relaxed by the moment.

"Tuesday night, eight-thirty, right?"

"Yeah, that's right." John was even more pleasantly surprised that Dave repeated the day and time.

"Well, then, you might see me there."

"Okay. Cool." John, once again, feeling threatened by the silence. "If, uh, you can't make it, no big deal or anything."

"Like I said, I'm not sure," Dave repeated. "If I'm in the mood to do something like that and I'm not doing something else, you might see me."

"Okay. Thanks." John's voice was breathy, almost sounding exhausted, but relieved.

"Anything else, John?"

"Uh, no, that'd be it."

"Okay, then. Maybe see you Tuesday night."

"That'd be...cool. Thanks." John's response was abrupt, betraying his nervousness, but the task had proven far easier than he'd thought it would be.

"Bye."

"G'bye, Dave."

As John ended the call, his face pulled into a nearly childish grin. "Hey, I talked to him," he called to Katie behind the door as he heard the lock being worked and the door being pushed open. He stood to his feet and faced Katie as she pulled the door open wide, stern expression.

"I heard," she spoke, nodding. "Sounded like it went okay."

"Yeah, it was easier than I thought it was going to be," John spoke, nodding and flushed as he re-entered his loft.

"The pizza's great, by the way," Katie informed, one of the small rounds in her hand with a couple of bites missing. "What'd he say?"

"He said he might make it if he doesn't have anything else going on that night," John spoke as he sat, almost anxiously, at the breakfast bar, hoisted one of the mini-pizzas, and took a huge bite. After he chewed for a moment and Katie took the seat opposite him at the breakfast bar, he continued. "I really don't expect him to show, but it was at least a civil conversation. I mean, he could have just hung up on me or something."

"Well, does it make you feel better to know that he can talk to you in a congenial manner?" Katie posed with visible surface attitude.

"Yeah," John nearly breathed the answer, "yeah it does."

* * *

John and Dave exited the Hollywood theater, somber and largely speechless until they were outside the building, and still the words were spare.

"You live in the lofts downtown, right?" Dave asked as he walked slowly in the direction of his car.

"Yeah," John replied, "the Lotus."

"It's kinda on my way. You want a lift?"

"Sure," John responded, "I wouldn't turn that down."

The two walked without speaking as they approached Dave's car. Dave unlocked the doors with his remote, and the two seated themselves.

"That movie was some severe insanity," Dave broke the silence several minutes after pulling the car onto the road and driving toward downtown.

"Well, I thought you might be into it," John offered. "I mean, I know you're into rock music."

"It was definitely pretty amazing," Dave was quick to counter. "It's not like I _didn't_ enjoy it. Truth told, though, I really wouldn't be that into the music thing if my best friend didn't manage a rock band and several of my friends weren't in that crowd. I probably wouldn't be too deeply involved other than the music I listen to, but it's something to do with my friends other than sit home and be bored. That movie, though, you can't make shit like that up."

"No," John shook his head. "One review I read said that it would make a perfect double-bill with the original _Night of the Living Dead_."

Dave nodded. "I could see that. Zombie mentality in both movies."

"I think it was more a statement to the effect of both films representing the death of 1960s idealism: one in fictional terms, one in real-life terms," John elaborated. "But, yeah, zombie-mentality is definitely another common link."

Dave continued to pilot the car as the two sat in silence for a few moments until John chuckled quietly.

"What?" Dave asked in response, sounding curious, even slightly amused.

John shook his head, the trace of a smile on his face. "I've been in this seat twice in four days."

Dave laughed. "Yeah, better circumstances this time."

Although the remainder of the drive was largely silent, any tension between them brought on by their past experiences was largely dispelled by the shared experience of watching the film and the brief-though-lighter exchange which followed.

As Dave's car approached the Lotus, John spoke again. "Um, if you're not in any hurry, you can stop in for a while if you like. I would like to talk to you for a while if that's cool."

"Yeah, I can do that," Dave answered, agreeable. "Don't have early classes tomorrow. Nowhere to be tonight, and it's only ten-thirty. The night is young by my regular habits."

John smiled, pleasant but small, and nodded, pointing ahead and saying, "You can park anywhere you along the street in the upcoming block: it's less than a block away from my building."

Dave parked his car along the road, and he followed John down the street to an old-but-well-kept apartment building. They took the elevator to the third floor, and John unlocked the door to the loft, ushering David inside.

The space was bright, efficient and sparsely furnished with filled bookshelves lining the walls on two sides. John dropped his backpack and bookbag to one side of the couch while Dave's eyes zeroed-in on another piece of furniture.

"Oh, wow, you have a beanbag chair," Dave commented, a lopsided smirk on his face. "I always wanted one of those."

"Yeah, you're welcome to sit in it if you like," John answered, smirking. "Can I get you something to drink? I think there's some beer in the fridge. I know I have root beer and some juice of some kind, probably orange or grapefruit juice. Of course, water."

"Um, no beer," Dave spoke as he sunk into the beanbag chair and scanned his surroundings, noticing an easel set up on the other side of the room. "Don't want to be dozing on the drive home. A root beer or just water would be cool."

John emerged from the kitchen with a tall beer-mug filled with root beer for Dave and a tall glass of water for himself.

"Thank you," Dave spoke as John handed him the mug. "What are you drinking?"

"Just water," John answered as he placed his glass of water on the coffee table and unzipped his bookbag, removing his laptop and setting it on the coffee table.

"Your roommate around?"

"Nah," John shook his head as he leaned downward, booting his laptop, "Gene's out on a job right now, usually rolls in right before midnight."

"Is there something on the easel?" Dave asked, jerking his head in the direction of the object.

"Yeah," John answered, dull, stepping toward the easel and turning it so Dave could see the canvas. "Something I was working on for church, and then they changed their minds so now I don't know what I'm doing with it. It was intended as the first of a series of paintings I was doing on the Gospel parables. I'm really glad I didn't get halfway through the series before they changed their minds. I've already started to rework it into a symbolist kinda thing, but I have no solid idea right now."

On the canvas were roughly-rendered figures, one on the left side and two on the right side, with a more elaborate, even imposing figure dead-center. Though the painting was just in its beginning stage, the abstract figures were rendered with elegance and grace, and the background was an intriguing swirl of colors.

"It's kinda cool," Dave spoke, bright and open-sounding.

"Ah," John dismissed as he returned to the center of the room and seated himself on the couch facing the coffee table, a perpendicular angle to the direction in which Dave was facing, "It isn't really anything yet."

"Just the same, it'd be cool to see where you go with it," Dave offered.

"Thanks for meeting me at the movie, Dave," John spoke again, sounding serious. "Despite what you said the other night, I really didn't expect to see you there tonight."

"I'm always up for new things," Dave answered. "Truth told, I'm not really keen on hanging at the apartment lately, and I've kinda run out of other places to be for the moment, so I guess I'm glad that you asked me."

"Why?" John asked, showing some concern, "I mean, I thought your roommate was your best friend."

Dave shook his head as he answered. "He is. He definitely is. It's just that, I've had a lot on my mind lately, and sometimes the familiar surroundings just remind me of that stuff."

John nodded, silently accepting the answer.

"Um, so, you're kinda calm tonight, John," Dave verbally noted, adding a small smile. "I almost want to ask if you're feeling okay because you're way more mellow than I've seen you before."

John added a smile to his nod. "I pull myself in sometimes to keep from being frantic. I know I can be hard to take when I'm that way." John inhaled deep, bracing slightly for his next statement. "I was a total nutcase to you. I feel bad for that. Part of that was my inability to keep my head in check."

"We all get whacked-out once in a while," Dave sympathized. "I haven't been that in years, but I wasn't exactly a model for stability in high school."

"Oh, I was hyper and loony in high school, and sometimes I think I've just gotten worse since," John furthered. "Y'know, I saw a personal ad that you placed on one of the sites."

Dave's attention stirred, almost a defensive reaction, then he calmed and spoke. "Yeah, that was part of me wanting to get out of my immediate surroundings."

"At first when I saw it, I felt really bad, like I'd really messed things up with you; but when I read it it made sense. The part about making friends but being open to greater possibilities."

"Well, that's mostly what I want because I'm not sure what I want otherwise," Dave spoke quietly but with certainty. "I mean, yeah, someday, I want the LTR, the life-partner, sure. Right now, I just want to figure out what I'm looking for in that guy."

John nodded and smiled, almost out of admiration. "That's an approach I never tried. I was always torn between figuring out whether I wanted to get laid or I wanted boyfriend. It never even occurred to me that just making some friends and being open to things that could develop might be a more sensible approach."

Dave nodded, raising his brow and nearly rolling his eyes. "Yeah, Scoop's always telling me how sensible I am."

"And sometimes I just don't see myself as relationship material."

"Why not?" Dave asked, his expression creasing slightly.

"Past mistakes," John began. "Patterns of bad behavior. The last guy I fell for, he swore to me that he was straight, but then there were all these signals and I made it impossible for him to refuse me. I used him like he used me. I'm toxic and selfish and I don't deserve a good guy."

Dave's expression soured, and he spoke, perhaps more directly, but retaining his sympathetic tone. "You think you've cornered the market on bad behavior? Dude, I threatened to kill a guy back in high school when he found out I was gay. Even disregarding that, I was a fucking asshole like you've never known. The band Scoop manages, the one that was set to tour Europe over the summer? They might be falling apart because of an imprudent, debatably selfish thing I did. And why? Just so I could feel better about the way my friends felt about me." Dave let out a quiet, mirthless cackle as John's jaw dropped slightly. "Oh yeah, my parents are getting divorced. That's on me too, despite what my dad says."

John shook his head. "What happened? The thing about the band and your parents?"

Dave shook his head. "That's kinda why I haven't felt like hanging with my regular friends lately or being around the apartment. It reminds me of this stuff. Before I left for Portland at the beginning of my freshman year, life with my parents was terrible. It was everything I could do to get out of that situation. My dad was okay with me, but my mother considered me a freak because I turned out gay. It's like it magnified every little thing that ever bothered either of my parents about the other. All this time I was living here in Portland, I thought things were okay between them. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind doesn't always hold true, I guess. My dad said they'd reached a point where they just couldn't make it work any longer. He called me last month to tell me they were divorcing. And, yeah, when I came out to my friends, most of them were okay with it, some of them were great with it, but a couple of them freaked-out over it. One of the ones who lost it was the band's bass player. He either quit or got kicked out of the band because the rest of them stood by me. I mean, it's nice to know my friends support me that way, but it doesn't make me feel good knowing that I fucked up their plans for the summer."

John's forehead creased as he shook his head. "Wow. I had no idea."

"How could you?" Dave's expression sobered as his eyes addressed John directly. "You're not the things you've done. And, yeah, no matter how many times I tell myself that and how many times my dad or Scoop try to convince me of that, it's still there. You don't think we all have it hard sometimes? I know you think you're a special case, but, man, you're not. I get it, you screwed up, but you're still here. Move forward, damn it. That's kinda why I felt like I wanted some new friends. I could have used someone to talk to at the time, the way we're talking now. I might have called you if I had your number."

"_That_ again," John remarked, "Now I really feel bad about not giving you my number. Well, you have it now."

"Actually, I don't."

"What?"

"The other night," Dave explained, "I put your number in my phone, but I deleted it when I got home. Truthfully, I didn't plan on using it, not after the other night, and I honestly didn't think you'd call me again."

John smiled and snickered, shaking his head and reaching into his shirt-pocket, producing his phone, unlocking the screen, and tossing it in Dave's direction. "Think fast," John announced, drawing Dave's attention. Dave caught the phone in his hands, appearing stunned. "Take my number again. Don't delete it this time. Use it if you want to, and I promise to try to make you not regret calling me for any reason."

Dave smirked as he pulled out his phone, affecting a suspicious expression. "Are you _sure_ you're feeling okay, John?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," John snickered a reply. "It wouldn't hurt me to have some people in my life that I can relate to as friends on a regular basis."

Dave finished recording John's phone number among his contacts and reached over, placing John's phone onto the coffee table as John pecked at the keypad on his laptop.

"I gotta say," Dave began, "I think it took guts for you to call me again and ask me out, even if it was just meeting you at a movie."

"Well, I appreciate that. Thank you."

"It was cool, and you're good to talk with. You were good talk with a couple of times before." Dave stood slowly from his seated position. "I should probably be rolling. Late night for you?"

"Ah, I'll probably be up for a few hours," John remarked. "I have some writing I want to do tonight."

"Yeah, you mentioned writing one other time, but you wouldn't say more about it than you've done some writing."

John rolled his eyes as he stood. "I write fan-fiction, okay? Nothing to brag about."

The term was a new one to Dave: fan-fiction, but he didn't question it further. From his standing vantage point, he could see the background image on John's desktop screen. It was a red cartoon bear, resembling a comical rendering of a team mascot, wearing a jersey which was marked with the words _Redcub 87_.

"I'll walk you back to your car," John offered as he showed Dave to the door.

* * *

As Dave entered his apartment, he could see light coming from the hallway and hear Scoop's voice: he was fairly certain, given the cadence and volume of Scoop's speech that he was engaged in a phone conversation. On the coffee table at the center of the room, he saw a stack of paper, upon closer inspection, flyers, advertisements, proclaiming in bold artwork and lettering the return of Omnivore. Dave could hear Scoop wrapping up the phone call as he emerged from his bedroom to the hallway, eventually meeting Dave in the living room.

"Hey, Dave," Scoop's words were loud and his manner buoyant, nearly jubilant, something Dave had not seen in weeks.

"Hey, Scoop," Dave intoned, slightly confused but optimistic. "What's the story with these flyers?"

"Ha-ha!" Scoop grinned almost maniacally. "The band's got a bass player. Omnivore returns to the White Box this Saturday night. The European tour is _on_!"

"That's awesome!" Dave's face returned a smile. "Congratulations. When'd all this happen?"

"Well, we tried out some bassists on Sunday, but this one had expressed an interest in playing for Omnivore a few weeks back. We just wanted to make sure it was definite before we made any announcements, formal or otherwise."

"Dude, I'm your best friend," Dave affected offense.

"Don't be bummed that I didn't tell you," Scoop placated. "We kept the whole thing under wraps. Until now that is."

"So, tell me about the new bassist."

"She's _incredible_."

"It's a girl?" Dave asked with slight surprise. "That's _cool_."

"Yeah, looks hot and tough-as-nails, and she can play fucking circles around Chuck. She's a few years older than the other guys in the band, but she comes with a history. She was in the Boom-girls and has been kinda semi retired since then though she played in one of the reunion lineups of Toxic Idea."

Dave's face twisted slightly. "I've seen the name Toxic Idea around. The Boom-girls are a new one on me."

"Toxic Idea were a legendary Portland punk band from years ago," Scoop explained. "Their guitarist died back in 2006, but they still play around intermittently. The Boom-girls were before your time, but they were this huge underground band who was based in Seattle in the late 2000s. They broke up, though, nothing so dramatic as a member dying off. Anyway, Deena, that's her name, the bassist, is a definite with Omnivore as of this afternoon."

"Dude, that is great," Dave smiled. "Well, I guess I know what I'm doing Saturday night. I'm kinda stoked to see the band again."

Scoop's smile became more serious. "You're gonna be there? Even though the last time you hung out with all of them was kinda weird?"

"Yeah, there'll be enough distractions," Dave answered. "Besides, they're all still my friends."

"That's cool," Scoop replied. "Hey, where were you tonight?"

Dave grinned crooked and shook his head. "John the whack-job called me on Sunday, the day after I stole his phone number, and asked me if I'd go to see a movie with him, just kinda as friends I guess."

Scoop grimaced. "Man, that's weird."

"Yeah, it _seemed_ kinda weird, but it was actually kinda cool," Dave shrugged. "I had a decent time talking with him, and he kinda apologized for his crazy behavior."

"Wow, that is cool," Scoop nodded. "Wonders never cease."

"Yeah. People are _so_ confusing."

* * *

_Referenced songs:_  
_"Shadows of the Night" by Pat Benatar_  
_"Alone" by Heart_  
_"Kiss Off" by Violent Femmes_


	7. Whole Lotta Rosie

**Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.**

**The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.**

**Thank you.**

**The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series _Glee_.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 13,000**

* * *

"This is the most people I've ever seen at the White Box, and it's still pretty early in the evening," Dave remarked, expression nearly awed, as he entered the club. "There's even people hanging outside. I don't think I've seen that here before."

Scoop was working the door at the moment, beaming an almost devious smile at Dave, jubilant at the turnout. "That's because everyone wants to see the new Omnivore. They were out of commission for a month, there were rumors that they might be done, but they're _back_. And they have a new bassist with a _history_. And the people are here to see and hear if it's gonna be great, but they _know_ it's gonna be great, because they _know_." Scoop nodded his head, smug and reassuring at the last.

Dave shook his head and snickered. "Scoop, that didn't really make any sense, but I liked it. It's cool to see you so psyched about this." Dave swiveled his head, taking in the quickly-filling club, and spoke again. "Are you working the door all night? Is that why you had to leave the apartment before me?"

"Nah," Scoop answered, loud over the noisy din, equally loud conversations mixed with the sound coming from the jukebox. "I left early just to make sure everything was going to go off without a hitch. It was kinda like jumping through hoops to promote the show on such short notice, and the club was being really cool about it. I just wanted to make sure I was doing everything I could to make sure it went smoothly. And, no, Joel will be back to work the door in a few. He went off to use the restroom and get himself a drink. Should be back shortly." Scoop craned his head around toward the bar. "In fact, here he is now."

Joel, the stocky, bearded older man who co-owned the club, relieved Scoop of his place at the cash-box, and Scoop and Dave filtered into the room, growing more crowded by the minute. The two approached the bar but found themselves needing to wait behind several people before they could be served.

"I'm noticing more, like, _older_ people than usual here tonight," Dave spoke, almost self-consciously, to Scoop.

Scoop snickered. "Yeah, well, Omnivore now have cred with the older crowd: one of the Boom-girls is in the band, and she has ties to Toxic Idea who are legends around here. I mean, the band already had cred with some of the old-scene, but this makes them kinda more for real."

"Dave!"

Dave and Scoop spun around collectively to see Buke and Jack, quickly approaching the two of them. On their arrival, Jack was throwing playful punches at Dave's shoulders and Buke threw a brisk hug around Dave. The actions brought forth a sound from Dave that was part-laughter, part-growl, and entirely-mirth.

"Hey, I'll grab you a beer when I get to the bar so you don't have to stand in line," Scoop offered, "Looks like you have some people who want to say hello."

"Thanks," Dave forced out through a laugh over his shoulder before addressing Jack and Buke. "You guys appear to be in a good mood already."

"Yeah, and we're not even drunk or blazed yet," Buke proclaimed, sounding almost proud.

"Hells, yes," Jack added. "We're back to hanging with our friends the way we _should_ be, Omnivore is _back_, _you're_ here, once again, like you _should_ be, and all is right with the world, even if only for tonight."

Dave smiled, warmed by the greeting, but his face wrinkled a confusion at the last. "Only for tonight? What's that mean?"

"Pay him no mind," Buke dismissed. "Jack's on some philosophical bent right now. It'll go away when we start toking up."

"Yeah, man, don't pay any attention to me," Jack seconded, "just being goofy."

"I got 'im," Dave heard as someone's arms wrapped around him from the back. Dave swiveled his neck to see Zack behind him, giving him a rowdy hug, with Tony, Meghan, and Chelsea nearby and visibly jovial.

"Hey, Zack," Dave spoke through a surprised smile, "Tony, Meghan, Chelsea, good to see you all."

Zack's grip on Dave loosened as he replied. "Awesome to see you, Dave. You're here, and we're all complete again."

Tony reached out and patted Dave's shoulder as Chelsea reached upward, giving Dave a hug and kissing his cheek.

"Here's your brew," Scoop announced, drawing Dave's attention from Chelsea by dangling a beer-bottle in front of his eyes. Chelsea resigned her hold on Dave as he took the bottle into his hand and the crowd backed away, dispersing into two smaller groups which remained in close proximity.

"Thanks, Scoop," Dave nodded as he lifted the bottle to his mouth.

"Everything cool?" Scoop asked, an expression which seemed to say that he already knew the answer and that everything was, in fact, good.

Dave nodded again. "Everything's cool. It's like, everyone's being super-nice to me."

"Dude, they _missed_ you; you've been MIA for over a month," Scoop assured. "They're your friends, and, in the end, they'll get over any weirdness."

"Gotcha," Dave smirked.

"I gotta run and talk to the guy from the opening band for a minute," Scoop said. "Gotta make sure this is going to start on time."

"No problem," Dave answered. "I'll be here."

Dave stood for a moment after Scoop walked in the direction of the soundboard where he saw Ronk and Shelly already standing. Ronk was talking with the man behind the soundboard, likely someone from the opening band, when Dave felt a tap on his shoulder.

Dave turned to see Robbie standing behind him.

"Hey, Dave, how's it going?"

"Going okay," Dave answered, unsure, but making his expression approachable.

"Cool," Robbie nodded, facing downward for a moment before speaking again. "Hey, uh, good to see you, man."

Dave summoned a smile. "Good to see you too."

"Yeah, um, I wanna say that I'm sorry if I've been kinda weird lately."

"We haven't seen each other," Dave remarked, "you haven't been anything."

"Yeah, I know, well, like, the last time, at that dinner thing at your and Scoop's place? I really wasn't sure how to react."

Dave's eyes addressed Robbie's, an expression which called for elaboration.

"Um, it just kinda hit me outta the blue or something," Robbie expanded. "I guess when things don't fit with my perceptions or assumptions, I can get kinda weird. Sorry about that. I know you're the same Dave you always were."

"It's cool," Dave nodded, expression remaining guarded for a moment before he broke a slight smirk. "Would your reaction have been different if I was more, um, _colorful_, so-to-speak?"

Robbie broke a chuckle. "Yeah, honestly. I have some friends who are kinda flamboyant. I really don't know much about them other than I hang with them and joke around with them. If any of them told me they were, um, gay, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. Knowing that about you kinda messed with my reality."

Dave smiled, crooked, "Maybe it's not such a bad thing to have your perception rocked a little once in a while."

Robbie laughed, full-on for a moment. "Nah. Probably a good thing." Robbie addressed Dave with a smile and reached out, pulling him into a rough, one-armed hug.

"Didn't expect you to hug me, there, Robbie," Dave spoke through a surprised laugh of his own.

"Yeah, well, I never had a problem hugging you before," Robbie smiled, small but genuine as he patted Dave's shoulder. "I shouldn't now, even if it _did_ take me a few weeks to realize that. Good to have you back, Dave."

"Good to have _you_ back, Robbie," Dave smiled as Robbie unlocked and they both raised their bottles, smiled, and nodded to each other.

As Robbie walked away toward the bar, Dave saw Tony standing by himself against the wall. Dave stepped toward him and smiled tentatively.

"Hey, Tony."

"Good to see you, Dave," Tony replied, smiling, warm.

The two raised their beer-bottles and nodded before Tony spoke again, in a slightly-hushed tone.

"Hey, uh, Dave, I'm sorry if I put you on the spot last time at the Tap Room."

Dave shook his head, facing downward. "Naw, no need to apologize."

"But I could tell it made you uncomfortable."

"Yeah, and it shouldn't have," Dave spoke, raising his eyes to meet Tony's. "I mean, if I expect my friends to accept me for everything that I am, I really have no right to be weirded out by anything like what you asked me."

"I didn't take offense," Tony shook his head. "I just got kinda bummed when I realized that what I said maybe made you leave when you did."

"And that's why I kinda feel I was wrong to react like I did," Dave nodded, eyes addressing Tony's with an uncertain expression.

Tony's face broke a grin as he reached and pulled Dave into a hug. "Aw, Dave, love you, man. It's not like one awkward conversation is gonna change that."

Dave chuckled warmly. "Thanks. I have a bunch of amazing friends."

"What's goin' on, guys?" Scoop noisily returned to Dave's side of the room.

"Not much, just hangin'," Tony pronounced, loud. "Hangin' with Dave before I head to the bar for a refill."

"Gotcha," Scoop nodded as Tony gulped his bottle empty and stepped toward the bar.

Scoop took the place against the wall which Tony had been occupying. "Everything cool?"

Dave smiled, chuckled slightly. "Yeah. It's good. It's really good, actually."

Scoop nodded and grinned, giving Dave an exaggerated wink as he did. In the expression, Dave began to think that perhaps Scoop had spoken to his friends about the unspoken tensions between them and Dave since the night Dave had come out to them. Whether this was the case or not, it would remain unspoken as far as Dave was concerned: he had returned to his circle of friends, and it felt like it was where he should be; that it might have taken an amount of diplomacy on Scoop's part was immaterial.

"Hey, guys," Zack, flanked by Jack and Buke, interrupted the quiet moment, "Basketball tomorrow?"

Scoop laughed and rolled his eyes while Dave smiled, feeling more at-ease by the moment. "If you guys can get yourselves outta bed at a reasonable hour tomorrow after playing a show and partying all night tonight, I'm in; and I can guarantee that I can drag Scoop along, regardless of the probability that he could very-well be in no condition to play himself."

"Okay, then, meet you at the courts at six?" Zack asked.

"Better make it seven," Scoop rolled his eyes, an expression betraying the fact that he knew that, after a night like tonight, he might not be out of bed before six.

"Sounds good, gentlemen," Zack voiced as Jack and Buke nodded assent and the three of them departed toward the stage area leaving Scoop and Dave against the wall to take in the continuing influx of people coming through the door.

"It doesn't look like they're gonna stop anytime soon," Dave observed.

"It's a good thing," Scoop opined.

"I dunno, Scoop, the crowd around the bar is so deep, it's almost crowding us against this wall."

It was then when a short, heavy-set man emerged from the bar area and nearly tripped as he freed himself from the tightly-packed patrons gathered around the bar. A tall, thin, athletically-built girl with pixie-styled black hair caught the man and braced him as he juggled his bottle of beer and a mixed drink, admirably preventing either from spilling. Once standing upright again, the man handed the mixed drink to the girl, and raised his head to drink from his bottle. As his face became more visible under the brim of the hat he wore in the low-light of the club, Dave was fairly certain that he recognized the man.

"John?" Dave called from the shadowed area where he stood.

The man jerked his head, scanning the immediate area for the source of the voice.

"John, right in front of you," Dave called again. "It's Dave."

The man centered his vision upon the smiling person in the darkness near the wall.

"Hey," the man approached the area where Dave was standing; the girl remaining at his side.

"What are you doing here?" Dave asked, inquisitive, but not sounding suspicious.

"You told me about this band a long time ago, suggested I check 'em out, so I thought I'd do that."

"How'd you know about the show?" Dave spoke through an interested grin, "It was only announced five days ago."

"C'mon, Dave," John answered with a sarcastic smirk. "There are flyers posted for this show all over the city. I've seen them everywhere. They've been impossible to not see!"

Scoop, having been the person who made and distributed the flyers (and the person who was largely responsible for hanging them), nudged Dave and nodded at him with a smug grin.

"Well, um, John, this is my friend Scoop," Dave motioned toward his side, "Scoop this is John."

"Hey, John, nice to meet you," Scoop extended his hand, offering it to John.

"Nice to meet you as well," John spoke as he shook Scoop's hand, "and this is my friend, Katie."

Katie smiled and nodded, shaking Dave's hand and then Scoop's. "Nice to meet you!"

The quickness with which Katie's eyes locked with Scoop's was almost disturbing.

"Um, this is kind-of a huge crowd," John remarked, noticing the invisible bond of mutual hypnosis at work between Katie and Scoop.

"Yeah, I expected a decent _crowd_, but I _didn't_ expect all _this_ exactly," Dave replied, taking in the room.

"Y'know, there were some empty tables toward the back of the place," John commented, eyes fixed on the trance-like state which seemed to have overtaken Katie's face, "we were actually gonna grab a table after we got our drinks."

"That's a pretty good idea," Dave agreed. "What do you say to that, Scoop?"

Scoop remained silent.

"Scoop?" Dave repeated.

"Katie?" John spoke to his friend, "We were gonna get a table, right?"

"What?" Katie started as if being awakened suddenly, "Why are you shouting?"

"Um, I wasn't shouting," John spoke. "It's loud in here. We were gonna get a table. Right?"

"Yeah, that's right!" Katie spat, still sounding stunned awake, "A table!"

"And Dave and Scoop are joining us?" John spoke, somewhat more gingerly to the obviously excitable Katie.

"Sure. Dave and Scoop are sitting with us."

"Um, actually," Scoop began, also sounding like he'd been shaken, "I was gonna go feed the jukebox."

"Well, we can go get a table, and you can meet us there after you hit the jukebox," Dave offered, slightly bemused by Scoop's and Katie's interrupted joint-trance-state.

"I'll go with Scoop to check out the jukebox," Katie volunteered, "You guys get a table, and we'll meet you there."

"Sounds good," Dave spoke as Scoop and Katie stepped away, nearly skipping in the crowded space, the pair seeming completely oblivious to everything except themselves and each other.

John shook his head and navigated in the direction of the entryway. There was an unoccupied four-person table in the corner opposite the door. It was situated beneath a hanging light fixture and one of the jukebox speakers.

"This'll work," Dave remarked as he and John sat opposite each other at the table, "and Scoop will be glad that he'll be able to hear the songs he's playing without interference."

John creased his brow in an almost sarcastically-joking expression. "I think Katie and Scoop have eyes for each other."

"You _think_?" Dave responded with wise-ass snark and a devious grin as he seated himself at the table.

In the brighter light, Dave was able to better see John. John was dressed in a dark-blue T-shirt, loose-fitting jeans, a black leather motorcycle jacket, and a black cloth cadet cap; his beard was neatly-trimmed. "You look good tonight, John. The leather jacket suits you."

"Thanks," John smiled at the compliment. "I borrowed the jacket from my roommate Gene. I told him I was going to see a rock band at a bar, and he tossed it at me. Said it was essential."

"I dunno if it's _essential_, exactly," Dave answered, smiling and relaxed. "I don't own one, but, then, I wouldn't be attending so many of these shows if Scoop didn't manage a band. Scoop doesn't own one either."

"Yeah, but you're dressed kinda all-purpose," John replied, noting Dave's light-blue long-sleeved shirt with its sleeves rolled up, worn open over a plain black T-shirt and jeans. "And you look good like you always do."

"Thanks." Dave smirked as he twisted in his seat and craned his head in the direction of the jukebox to see that Scoop and Katie appeared to be rapt in viewing the selections. "Wonder how long Scoop will need to make his selections."

"When Katie hits a jukebox, she acts like the fate of the world depends upon what she plays," John offered. "Scoop anything like that?"

"Yeah, pretty-much," Dave said as he turned forward to face John again. "Either they're collaborating and they're gonna be up there all night deliberating on what to play or they can't agree on anything and it's gonna be a sudden-death jukebox face-off."

John laughed: it was a funny enough comment, but it was made funnier by Dave's deadpan delivery. "You ever feed the jukebox?"

"Nah," Dave answered. "I let my friends do that. Honestly, most of the stuff I listen to sounds exactly the same as most of the stuff they like, except that the stuff I like gets fairly popular and the stuff they like remains obscure. It's almost like a contest to see who can dig up the more obscure band."

John snickered again. "I know people like that, and the description you just gave is painfully accurate. And funny!"

Dave smiled back at John as the two of them noticed a striking couple walking in through the door into the club, stopping for a moment at the desk where Joel was working, and being waved on into the bar area. There was a woman with a mane of wild, dreadlocked hair and heavily-tattooed arms. She appeared athletic, lean and strong, having the build of a martial-arts practitioner; she was wearing a cut-off military shirt and tight camouflage pants which were cut off into shorts. The overall look was completed with long, lace-up combat-style boots which rose almost to her knees. Her expression was intimidating. The man behind her was perhaps not as unconventional in appearance but no less striking: he wore a formal leather jacket over a wildly-embellished western-style shirt, tight jeans, and Cuban-heeled demi-boots; his hair was a slick, black rockabilly 1950s-style complemented with a well-trimmed beatnik-style van-dyke beard. The man carried a musical-instrument case, and the couple shuffled through the crowd attempting to make their way toward the stage area. They didn't get far before they were stopped by an enthusiastic Scoop and ushered, Katie in tow, to the table where Dave and John sat.

"Hey, Dave, John," Scoop began, "I'd like you to meet Deena and Earl: Deena is Omnivore's new bassist extraordinaire, and Earl is her husband."

At this, the woman's visage shifted from tough to friendly as she reached out to shake Dave's hand, then John's. Earl, his hands full, simply nodded and smiled pleasantly. Scoop rattled off quick instructions to where the band was storing their gear until showtime, and Deena and Earl headed in that direction.

Scoop took a seat at the table next to Dave, and Katie sat next to John, opposite Scoop.

"Dude, the new bass-player is completely _wild-looking_," Dave spoke, almost hushed, to Scoop.

"I _know_!" Scoop proclaimed, sounding proud of the band's new member. "I told you, man, she's hot and tough. Wait until you hear her play."

"You two were at the jukebox for a pretty long time," John noted, sounding like a teacher observing a student's questionable study habits. "Did you guys buy, like, fifty songs or something?"

"No, we were just talking about the music we're both into, and it was incredible how similar our tastes are," Katie announced, "we both like all the same bands!"

"Yeah, but we debated at length which songs to play _by_ those bands," Scoop spoke, completing Katie's statement as both giggled to each other.

Dave's eyes found John's from across the table; it was obvious that they were both amused by the actions of their present company.

"So, what are you drinking?" Scoop asked Katie.

"Gin and tonic," She answered quickly. "It's my thing. Either that or wine. Not really a beer-gal here."

Scoop nodded. "Getting kinda low there. You ready for another?"

"Yeah, I think I am," She raised the glass and downed the remainder of her drink.

"Cool," Scoop stood to get in line for the bar. "Anyone else need a refill?"

"No, I'm good," Dave replied while John shook his head.

"You sure?" Scoop offered again, "I'm buying."

"Nah, barely into my first beer here," Dave lifted his bottle as if showing proof of his statement.

"I'll go with you," Katie sprang from her seat and nearly skipped after Scoop in the direction of the bar.

"_That_ accelerated quickly," John spoke, shaking his head and smirking in an expression of disbelief.

"Yeah," Dave smiled though his reply sounded somewhat nervous. "Scoop has a tendency to kill his potential girlfriends with kindness. I've never known him to have a steady girlfriend for more than a couple of months, but he's better at dealing with it when it's over, better than he used to be, at least."

"I've never seen Katie go for a guy this quickly before," John offered. "She's usually all tough and hard-to-get."

"I've seen Scoop fall hard and fast before," Dave told, "in fact, that's his normal thing."

"The music's kinda spacey right now," John noted, eyeing in the direction of the speaker above the table. "You think that's what Scoop and Katie picked?"

"Probably not. Scoop likes loud older rock that I never heard before I met him, or loud current music that sounds like loud older rock that I'd have never heard if I didn't know him." Dave lifted his bottle and swallowed another gulp of beer. "You'll know it when his songs come on, like loud, catchy, rock, mostly loud. What kinda stuff does Katie like?"

"Um, poppy rock, power-pop, that kinda stuff. She has good taste. If her and Scoop say they like the same bands, it's probably the poppier side of the bands he likes." John paused for a moment before speaking again. "So, before you said that you like music that _sounds_ like the stuff that your friends like, but it's different from the stuff that your friends like. What exactly do you like?"

"Um, mostly like popular hard rock," Dave explained. "It's kinda rare that I go crazy for any one band. My ipod has stuff like Metallica, Green Day, Foo Fighters, G-N-R, stuff like that. I kinda dug the White Stripes. That's about as close as my personal tastes get to Scoop's and the other guys I hang with. How about you?"

"I have this affection for melodramatic power-ballads and, yeah, typical diva-music," John offered, almost sounding like he was busted doing something wrong. "There's the show-tuney stuff that I like as well, but, honestly, I can listen to just about anything."

"Yeah, me too, but I'm not too big on heavy, thumpy club music."

"I don't dig much of that either unless I'm just in the mood to drink and dance," John confessed.

"Well, personally, I'm not much for dancing myself," Dave admitted, quietly. "Never thought I'd be very good at it, so actually dancing at a dance-club is kinda out for me. About as close as I get to dancing is what's gonna happen later tonight when the band plays."

"And what would that be?" John asked, interest piqued suddenly.

"Uh, I'll be standing near the front," Dave explained. "It could be pretty crowded, people bouncing around a little. It's kinda aggressive, but not, like, all-out slamming or moshing or anything."

"I've never been at a show where there's been moshing."

"There might be some diving and moshing, but probably not a whole lot," Dave guessed. "I'm the kinda guy who usually stands around the sides and helps people get back up when they fall, or the guy who makes sure the stagedivers get caught by someone."

"It sounds kinda dangerous."

"It's actually kinda fun, I mean, if the crowd is cool, nobody gets hurt usually." Dave raised his bottle for another drink before saying, "But, like I said, stuff like that is kinda rare at an Omnivore show."

Their arrival prefaced by the sound of Katie's giggling, Scoop and Katie returned from the bar. Scoop placed a fresh beer in front of Dave, and Katie similarly placed one before John.

"Um, Scoop, I told you I didn't want another beer yet," Dave smirked affected irritation.

"Dude, the bar is so crowded that when you _do_ want one it will take you forever to get it," Scoop explained. "This way, you're ahead of the game."

Dave shook his head while John laughed. "Your logic is most admirable," John gestured a mock-salute in Scoop's direction while Scoop bowed in mock-acceptance.

A server appeared at the table and placed a small tray holding four shot-glasses in the center of the table. "These were sent over here by the members of Omnivore," the server stated as Dave and Scoop turned around toward the bar and saw Zack, Tony, Robbie, Deena, and Earl waving in their direction.

"I did not plan on getting trashed tonight," Dave rolled his eyes as he shook his head.

"Dude, it's early," Scoop reminded. "One shot and two beers aren't gonna make you drunk, and you're not leaving any time soon anyway."

"I guess we're all doing shots right now," John stated the obvious as each of them picked up the nearest glass and downed the amber-colored liquor.

The four of them sat still for a moment, none wanting to react visibly. Dave smirked as he detected John's face flushing red about ten seconds after drinking the shot as a burst of loud guitar blasted through the speaker above the table causing Scoop to bolt to his feet.

"Ah, this is one of Scoop's jukebox songs," Dave smiled and nodded in John's direction.

"Hells yes, it is," Scoop confirmed as he moved jerkily to the music and Katie joined him.

"_I'm a street-walkin' cheetah with a heart full o' napalm,"_ Scoop yelled along to the music, _"I'm a runaway son of the nuclear A-bomb!"_

"Oh, you are _not_," Katie answered him, playfully putting her hand to his mouth to silence him.

Dave giggled and shook his head at Scoop's shameless display; John was being entertained by it as well.

"Is he always like this?" John asked. "I mean this isn't much different than the time I saw him at the Tardis Bar."

Dave grinned, "Yeah, but, you gotta admit, it looks a lot better when his audience is as receptive as Katie is."

John nodded. "This is true. And this song is a lot louder than anything we heard before tonight." With that, John grimaced and shot his gaze in the direction of the overhead speaker.

Dave bounced his head. "Scoop probably asked the people at the bar to turn up the jukebox."

The next song shifted from the explosive rock they'd previously heard to a song with horns, bells, and a laid-back dance beat; it was Katie's turn to sing along with the song's dreamy, seductive opening while her snaky body moved subtly to the beat.

"_Toe to toe, dan-cing ver-y close, barely brea-thing, almost comatose." _

Scoop was seated, attention rapt in Katie who was standing, moving, and singing to him. Dave and John looked on with some amazement in that the exhibition before them was approaching lapdance territory.

"_Wall to wall, people hyp-no-tized, and they're step-ping light-ly, hang each night in... Ra-a-pture."_

"Is this gonna be a really good thing or a really bad thing?" John asked, hushed, almost whispering, to Dave as their eyes remained fixed on Scoop and Katie.

"Too early to tell," Dave answered at a conversational volume. "I don't think you need to whisper. I doubt they can hear us."

Dave and John turned to face each other; Dave raised an eyebrow and smiled, and they both broke into quiet laughter.

No further words were spoken until Katie coaxed Scoop to his feet, joining her to dance in the shrinking, unoccupied space near the table.

"Well, he looks a lot sexier now than he did before," John observed.

"Just more comfortable," Dave added, "and properly inspired, maybe."

The dancy song ended, replaced by a guitar-fueled rock song; Scoop and Katie began jumping and clapping in unison like two excited school children. When the vocals began, they sang the song to each other and moved further away from the table, nearly absorbed into the crowd.

"_I want you to want me, I need you to need me, I'd love you to love me, I'm beggin' you to beg me..."_

Dave and John turned to face each other, smiling and shaking their heads as the song seemed to roar from above them.

"_I'll shine up my old brown shoes, put on a bran-new shirt, get home early from work, if you say that you love me..."_

Dave leaned back in his seat and finished his first beer. When his eyes rose to John's face, John was staring into the crowd around the bar, unconsciously mouthing the words to the song.

"_Didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you crying? Feelin' all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dying..."_

John's gaze shifted to meet Dave's eyes, and he stopped silently singing, suddenly self-conscious, smiled, and blushed, facing downward into the table.

"You don't hafta act so busted," Dave spoke. "It's kinda cool that you can sing or even pretend to sing in public. I've always been too shy about that kinda stuff to let anyone see me do anything like that."

"_Really?"_ John asked. "Never sang or even pretended to sing where anyone could see you? No singing in the shower?"

Dave snickered, almost embarrassed. "No. Nothing like that. Only times I did stuff like that was when I was kinda forced to, like part of a group in school or something. If there ever was a performer-aspect to me, it's never been developed or acted upon."

"You used to play sports, right? It's _kinda_ the same thing."

"I never felt like it was. I actually had a teacher tell me I was talented at one point. I was a junior in high school at the time. I felt that it was kinda too late to develop that part of me anyway. And I stupidly felt like I was too cool for it at the time."

"It's never too late," John offered.

"Yeah, but it's nothing I think about at this point."

"_Feelin' all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dyin', Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you crying?"_

The sound from the jukebox ended abruptly, and the lights dimmed. Dave and John craned their heads around as people moved from the bar area toward the stage at the opposite end.

"First band's going on," Dave spoke, loud and clear over the confusing din.

"Who's the first band?" John asked as both he and Dave stood, beers in hand, and moved closer to the stage area.

"Das Verbotene Fünf. I've seen them before. They're pretty cool. Surf-rock, horror-themed band."

"I dunno," John smiled, skeptical, "for a guy who claims to not know much about the music scene, that was a pretty specific description."

Dave laughed. "I'm just quoting Scoop verbatim, pretty-much. There's something to be said for the contact-buzz you pick up living with a guy who's really into this stuff."

Dave and John were standing a fair distance from the stage when the band crashed into the opening chords to their first song. It was, as Dave's description implied, uptempo, catchy surf-rock; song titles like "Chop You Up" and "Kill, Baby, Kill" aside, it was hard to resist their bouncy sound.

"So, I guess they've played with Omnivore before?" John asked, actually shouted at Dave over the music.

"Yeah, a couple of times," Dave answered with equal clamor, "And they were pretty-much available to play at a moment's notice for this show."

John nodded understanding, quickly at first, until the repetitive action of his head found the beat of the current song. The crowd was receptive, enthusiastic, occasionally dancing wildly to the band, with the singer, a chubby, long-haired man, encouraging the rowdy behavior.

A few songs into the set, Dave nudged John with his elbow and pointed to one side of the stage where Scoop and Katie were dancing to the music, arms around each other and close, Katie turning occasionally, her back to Scoop's front, then around again, face-to-face.

John shook his head and smiled, "Who'd have thought?"

"Who can figure out attraction?" Dave posed hypothetically. "Certainly I can't, but it's kinda cool to see Scoop all happy."

"Delirious is more like it," John supposed, "and, yeah, I don't think I've ever seen Katie so taken with a guy so quickly."

A few more songs, and the short set ended. The lights came up and the people who were packed close to the stage filtered outward toward the bar area though a few remained near the the stage to shake hands with the band.

"You need another beer?" Dave asked John as people began to crowd around the bar again.

"No, I'm doing okay," John answered, lifting his bottle, "just barely started in on this one."

"I'm gonna move closer to the stage," Dave said. "It's more fun up there. You're coming with me, right?"

"How crazy do you think it's gonna get when your friends play?" John asked, cautionary.

Dave smirked, dismissive. "C'mon, you're a big boy. You're not gonna get hurt. Besides, I'll be standing right next to you, so if it gets too rowdy, I'll pull you out to the back. But that's not gonna happen."

"Okay, I'm in," John spoke nodding and smiling, slight. "Lead the way."

The two walked to within a few feet of the stage. Katie joined them as Scoop was attending to helping Omnivore set up for their set.

"Having a good time?" Dave asked Katie.

"Yeah," she spoke immediately but also instantly distracted as she caught sight of Scoop traversing the stage, a tangle of cables in his hands. As Scoop disappeared behind the PA cabinets at the far side of the stage, Katie's attention returned to Dave and John. "Are you guys having a good time?"

"Yeah," John spat out, almost too quickly as Dave nodded casually. "Did you like the first band?"

Katie seemed dazed for a moment before answering. "They were good. I think my mind was elsewhere, though."

Dave chuckled a quiet belly-laugh as John smiled, somewhat confused.

As the members of Omnivore set up their equipment and prepared for their set, Dave introduced them quickly to John and Katie.

"Are you guys gonna kick ass tonight?" John asked Zack as he checked his pedalboard.

_Gawd, that sounded like a total novice coming out of John's mouth_, Dave thought to himself, _but there was something oddly endearing about it, just the same._

"Yes," Zack answered John, matter-of-fact, "yes we are."

The lights dimmed and Scoop approached the microphone.

"Hey, I wanna thank everybody for coming out tonight, on behalf of Omnivore. Give it up for Das Verbotene Fünf and the great set they played on such short notice."

Scoop clapped along with the crowd who added some rowdy shouts to the ovation.

"He is kinda sexy when he's on stage," John whispered, side-mouthed, to Dave, trying to shield his words from Katie who was too rapt in Scoop to hear them anyway.

"See?" Dave spoke, cocky, slightly arrogant, "And you were so quick to dismiss him from what you saw at the Tardis Bar."

John rolled his eyes and nodded, playfully defeated by the point.

"You know, though," Dave continued, "I've seen that happen with other people, you put them on a stage and they're suddenly hot and confident."

John puzzled over Dave's words for a moment until his thought was derailed by Scoop speaking once again from the stage.

"So, hey, for the past few weeks, some people thought that this band might have been done. I think it's gonna take you all of thirty seconds to decide for yourselves that they're far from done. So, here they are, I give you, the return of Omnivore!"

With that Scoop ran to one side of the stage and crouched downward as the drummer pounded out a four-count on his snare drum and the band launched into a fast blues-rock song. It was immediately catchy though Zack's words, strong and rough as his voice was, were indecipherable through the PA and amplification. The crowd reacted immediately, dancing wildly, sometimes aggressively. John was taken aback at first until it became apparent that the actions, aggressive as they were, were not violent or intent on causing injury. He felt himself inclined to dance as well, timidly at first.

At the first chorus of the opening song, Scoop took a running-leap from his position at the side of the stage and landed on the packed crowd, being caught primarily by Dave who chuckled upon impact. Once lowered to his feet, Scoop took his place beside Katie and began dancing with her and the rest of the crowd. John tugged at Dave's shirt to get his attention. Dave bent forward to John's level as John shouted into Dave's ear.

"Scoop's kinda crazy."

"You mean him jumping off the stage?" Dave replied. "Nah, he was aiming for me, and I've seen it so many times that I expected it. Just having fun, that's all."

John smiled, satisfied in the answer as the band blazed into their second song.

"They're good," John commented to Dave. "They sound like AC/DC on speed or something."

Dave nodded. "Glad you like 'em. I try not to analyze too much, though. I just come to the shows and have fun."

At about mid-set, the band played a slow but no-less audacious punk-love song with a duet vocal in which Zack and Deena traded lines: it was at once sweet and hard, and such a song would have been impossible if Chuck had still been in the band. The song found Scoop and Katie dancing close, once again; and the audience didn't wait until the song was finished to roar their approval.

The band launched into a string of uptempo songs, and the crowd reacted accordingly. John had shed his inhibitions (as well as his leather jacket) as the crowd pushed tighter, but not uncomfortably so, toward the stage. John bounced and swiveled to the beat, his shoulder rubbing against Dave's chest, mingling their sweat together through their T-shirts. Dave could feel the heat, nearly steam, rising from John; he could smell fresh sweat. The cloth of John's cap was also wet as trails of perspiration drained downward into the neckband of John's T-shirt.

Omnivore hit a high level of energy which seemed like the end of the set, but the lights remained dimmed and the crowd stayed close to the stage. Scoop left Katie so he could attend to the band, saying that he'd regroup with her soon after. Though the band had left the stage, save for Tony who remained behind the drum kit, the audience did not move. There were stray shouts coming from the crowd, perhaps beckoning the band to return.

John's face puzzled. "What are they saying?"

"Huh?"

"The people in the crowd. Are they calling for the band to play more? It sounds like they're saying 'Rosie'."

Dave nodded and smirked. "It's kinda like a signature thing they do. They encore with an old AC/DC song called 'Whole Lotta Rosie'. The crowd obviously wants to hear it."

Abruptly roaring from the stage was the sound of a quick, repetitive pattern, three chords repeated seven times separated by four beats on the hi-hat: the crowd was getting what it asked for. Zack's voice joined in between the repeated chord pattern.

"_Wanna tell you a story...'bout someone I know...When it comes to lovin'... Ooh, they steal the show... Ain't exactly pretty... Ain't exactly small... Forty-two, thirty-nine, fifty-six, you could say they got it aaaaaaaall!"_

The crowd erupted into frenzied movement as the song-proper began. John broke into laughter as he was playfully jostled by the audience, pushed more closely into Dave and nearly forced to move to the beat.

"_Never had nobody, never had no one like you... Doin' all the things, doing all the things that you do... Ain't no fairy story, ain't no skin-and-bone, When you give it all you got, weighing in a nineteen-stone..."_

The friction of John's movement against him and the bawdy, sexy noise sent Dave's urges pulsing. The audience, John included, joined in, shouting the song's chorus:

"_I got a whole lotta Ro-sie, a whole lotta Ro-sie, a whole lotta Ro-sie..."_

Dave sprang into action, pushing himself and John away from the stage and over to one side, a darkened, unpopulated area behind the sound system. Dave nudged John until his back was against the huge speaker cabinet; the two addressed each other's eyes. Dave leapt against John, their lips met: warm, sweaty, slightly sloppy but welcomed by both parties. Dave pushed John's back firm against the cabinet and the force of the amplified music sent vibrations through both of them as the band continued to play.

"_Give it to me, honey, give it to me all night long... Only one that turns, only one that turns me on..."_

Dave's lips had moved downward to the moist skin at John's neck as John threw his head back, rattled and buzzed by the tremor of the PA cabinet.

"_All through the night time, and right around the clock, Whoa! To my surprise, Rosie never stops..."_

Dave pulled away to take in John's face; John's eyes had rolled back under their lids, but they rolled forward as he unextended his neck to face Dave.

"Let's get outta here," Dave spoke, urgent. "Let's go back to my place."

"Now?"

"Right now."

"Lemme tell Katie what's up," John collected himself, an involuntary smile forming on his face.

"Fine, meet me by the door, and don't take too long."

John hurriedly flagged down Katie on his way toward the exit door, regrouping with Dave and walking outside together.

The ride to Dave's apartment was set to nameless late-night music on a local radio station and punctuated by sideways glances from driver to rider and rider to driver. Dave's hand touched John's thigh, just above the knee: first a caress, then a firmer touch. Dave reached in the darkness for John's hand and eventually found it, rolling it gently in his until John involuntarily squeezed. Dave glanced over to him to see John's eyes closed, an almost swooning expression on his face which morphed into a smile in the span of about ten seconds.

Upon arrival and through the door of the apartment, Dave wrapped his arms loosely around John, just tight enough to pull him close, nudging him playfully through the living room and toward the hall, sliding his lips along the back of John's neck.

"Where're we going?" John asked, smiling, almost chuckling, quiet and breathy, allowing Dave to gently push him through the darkened apartment.

"Bedroom," Dave grunted, partially muffled by the skin of John's neck.

"Can I just leave my shoes by the door or something? I don't wanna track dirt in on your carpet."

"You can kick your shoes in my room. It's not like it's a sloppy night out or anything."

"Okay," John whispered back, close to Dave, sliding a hand along Dave's arm.

"Careful, now," Dave chuckled darkly, "unless you just wanna get started right out here."

"Don't tempt me," John snorted low.

John spun as he felt contact with the closed door of Dave's bedroom. The action wasn't exactly graceful, but he recovered nicely when his lips found Dave's in the dark hallway, his back resting against the door. Dave reached an arm around John's shoulders and twisted the doorknob with his free hand. The door fell open and John snickered, "I'd have fallen if you weren't holding onto me."

"And I wouldn't let that happen," Dave spoke, quiet and scratchy as he advanced into John, moving him backward, pushing the door shut behind.

"You know how long it's been since I've been with a guy? Christmas. Yeah, I know. How cliché could I be?"

"Was he anything like me?" Dave asked, swinging back behind John, loosely encircling John in his arms while John tried to toe off his shoes, succeeding after a moment.

"I've never been with _anyone_ like you," John said through labored breaths as Dave's lips and teeth grazed his neck lightly. "Damn. That's fucking hot."

Dave also kicked his shoes, still holding onto John, breathing hot on John's neck.

"Do we have to worry about when Scoop's coming back?" John asked, sounding suddenly tense.

"Scoop's not gonna be back for a while," Dave explained. "It's barely past twelve-thirty, and he's probably gonna need to stay at the club until they close up, manager of the band and all, needs to make sure they get paid and everything. You seem kinda nervous."

"I'm trying not to be," John whispered. "I like this feeling, being close to you like this."

"I'm digging the way you feel right about now too." Dave switched on a small bedside lamp, kissing John's lips and cheeks alternately and moving lower to brush his lips against the unshaven flesh of his neck. John craned his head involuntarily, smiling, offering Dave greater access to his throat. John's breathing became more pronounced, audible, almost irregular.

"You okay?" Dave asked, noting John's shift in demeanor.

John gasped a little, swallowing hard. "Yeah." John let his hand fall to Dave's crotch, as if to answer with the gesture. "I just, I've kinda," he bit down on his lip, "I've kinda built this up a little bit in my mind. You, me, naked- doing lots of, well, stuff, and I-uhh- you're very flattered in my fantasies."

"Yeah?" Dave asked as he began kissing John again lightly on his lips as John spun slowly, unconsciously, in Dave's arms to face him, pressing their crotches together, John lifting his arm from between them to find himself encased in Dave's arms again, but turned to the front this time. "And what are those fantasies like?"

"Good," John said with a little tremble as he found himself leaning backwards, hitting the edge of Dave's bed. "_Very_ good. You're always... close, close to my body. When I'm sucking you off, when you're fucking me, when we're about to-" John stopped for a moment, blushing slightly as he fell back onto the bed.

"Sounds nice," Dave said, leaning over John and addressing him with a devious grin.

"I- yeah," John said as he found his way to the bottom of Dave's shirt and let his hands roam over Dave's back, the first skin-to-skin contact causing John to throb with expectation. "That's nice. I just- I'm clean, you should know that. I'm tested like once every three months and I don't... I don't fuck around a lot. Just enough to... oh, damn. Train of thought leaving the station."

"I't cool," Dave spoke, keeping his eyes on John's as he reached over to a nightstand, pulling open a drawer and groping inside. "Tested and clean here, always play safe." After a while of fishing in the drawer, he dropped onto the bed a handful of condoms and a bottle of lubricant. "I'm always prepared or I don't go there." His eyes remained trained on John's the entire time.

John smiled, looking away from Dave's penetrating eyes, an almost dazed expression.

Dave repositioned himself slightly, John shifting so he was more centered on the king size mattress, Dave's knees not pinning him down until he slid closely into the space between them so he'd _feel_ pinned down. Dave stood to kneeling position, tossing his button-down shirt behind him and peeling his T-shirt up and over his head, revealing himself to John.

John was awed; he memorized the what he saw, the sparse hair and the defined chest, not loose but not six packed, definitely muscled but nothing that would make John feel uneasy or unable to strip before the man.

"Like what you see?" Dave asked with an arched brow.

"Yeah, I, um, you're really, like, so far, like, _better_ than what I imagi..."

Dave intensified the smile. "I wanna see you too."

John lost his words for a moment and opened his mouth to say something. Instead, he nodded, reaching up and pulling Dave's head down, his hand on Dave's neck. They kissed, deep, like that for a couple of minutes, Dave's body on top of John's; John grateful that clothing was still touching so he didn't lose it completely. He didn't want to stop, and he could feel Dave's pronounced bulge protruding against his own. It wouldn't be long before Dave's hips would follow and John was wondering if he'd even make it another five minutes.

Dave lifted himself upward, a playfully challenging expression. "You gonna show me some skin?"

Dave's hands were suddenly against John's skin, fingers tracing lines along fur and lifting John's shirt above his head. Dave whistled low as John let his shirt fall over the edge of the bed.

"That's fuckin' hot," Dave mused. "Red fuzz everywhere. Looks delicious to me."

"Well, yay, genetics?" John chuckled low, grateful for the slight breather so that he wouldn't get off before he was completely naked. "Well, yeah. I mean, I'm losing it on my head so the hair had to grow _somewhere_. Everywhere? You think so? Maybe you should- I dunno- find out?"

Taking John's words as an invitation, Dave's hands moved quickly to John's pants, popping buttons and unzipping them, his eyes stopping on the vision of the bulge in John's boxer-briefs, stretching the fabric. "Happy to see me?"

"Hah," John coughed tartly. "Just be careful. Too witty and I might explode on ya."

"Well," Dave chirped, "guess I'd better be take it slow then." Dave leaned forward and took a mouthful of cotton and bulge, his tongue extending over John's head beneath the fabric. John arched at the sensation for a moment, his eyes going wide. _Woah damn_, he thought, as he felt that he'd lose control completely.

Dave refused to let go at first, lost in the moment as he moved his tongue slowly, closer to the edge of the boxer briefs, and then inside until the briefs were inside-out, elastic between Dave's teeth, and John felt them slip downward in Dave's grasp. John was naked, motionless; Dave was gently nipping John's cock, his tongue was quick, the movements met with John's wordless sounds of approval.

"Urgh- you're gonna- I," John managed to finally form words as Dave' mouth moved lower. John's breath quickened a little too much for Dave's liking. John squirmed as Dave sucked and teased, using one hand to thread through Dave's hair.

"Approval?" Dave said with an air of cockiness as he lifted his head.

"Guh," John replied, biting down on his lip and starting to thrust. "Damn it, Dave. Damn it."

John lost all concept of time, how long Dave's shoulders moved along the bottom of his legs. Dave was finding all of his tactile weaknesses, all the buttons that made him remember what it felt like to be taken.

Dave broke for air for a moment, a pleased expression and John's eyes glazed. John scooted away, eyeing Dave. "Okay. Your turn. Off with the pants."

"No problem," Dave complied, standing from the bed for a moment, John raising himself so he could watch Dave unzip. Dave took a moment to peel off his socks, then the sound of unzipping pants which made John nearly irrational as Dave's bulging boxer-briefs revealed themselves as his jeans fell slightly.

"You're killing me," John breathed, labored as he reached for Dave's hips and brought down his pants and underwear with a single gliding movement. As before when he first say Dave's torso, John took an awed moment to observe Dave's member as Dave looked downward and across to John's face.

"Like what you see?"

"Uh, _fuck_ yeah," John said, about to taste Dave's flesh for the first time. Dave's cock filled John's mouth to capacity, the length causing him to choke slightly on first try, the girth straining his jaw. It tasted and looked incredible amid a thick patch of dark pubic hair and the earthy but unoffensive scent of fresh sweat.

Dave placed a hand on John's shoulder, letting his eyes close and his head tilt back as he enjoyed the sensation of being in John's mouth. His grip on John's shoulder was joined by his other hand on the back of John's head as he began to thrust more deeply into John's mouth. John felt the involuntary urge to choke and tears welled in his eyes as he shut them tightly, his hands grasping Dave's wrists and tugging.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry," Dave spoke, eyes wide and stunned, as he loosened his hold on John and pulled himself out.

John gasped for a moment. "It's okay. Just wasn't ready for that just yet."

"Sorry, really, I just kinda got caught up in the moment."

John chuckled. "It's okay. Really. It was actually kinda hot until I started to gag."

"Maybe we can try it again, only I won't go so deep?"

"Maybe we can try something else," John spoke directly, almost challenging.

Dave smirked and nodded, accusing. "You want me to fuck you?"

John slid his hand over Dave's and tugged. "Look, I umm..usually I don't, usually I just blow a guy and get them off and then I'm gone. I don't usually do a lot of other stuff and it seems kind of silly for you to be this hot and to just be jerking off instead of, well, I mean, I guess what I'm trying to say is..."

"You want me to fuck you."

"God yes!" John exclaimed. "Wow, that came out a lot more needy than I thought it would. Honestly, I didn't really ever think this was gonna happen, I mean, you're just, like, off-the-hook hot."

"Thanks," Dave said as he rose from the bed, sounding slightly dismissive, and reached to the lower level of his nightstand. "Let me grab some towels. I keep some jerk-off supplies in here."

John reclined, flat on his back, but at a diagonal angle on the bed; Dave positioned himself, upright on his knees as John's legs parted and bent at the knees.

"You into being rimmed?" Dave said, a playful and devilish smile on his face as he reached his fingers under John's knees.

John shook his head. "Nah, I just, I know it's supposed to be erotic and great and the guys in the videos look like it's an awesome experience from heaven, but we were like at the show and getting all sweaty and, um, I kind of um, you know, it's- I don't know."

"Dude, we don't _have_ to go there," Dave rose an eyebrow, "not _tonight_, at least."

"Uh, yeah. Let's just- another bridge, another day."

Dave nodded. "I respect that. Now let's see if I can make your eyes roll back in your head again."

"Oh, I'm sure you're gonna be able to do that," John spoke quickly, trying to relax, stroking himself slowly as Dave reached to retrieve the lube and condom. He broke open the condom package quickly, stroking it over. covering himself, then taking a moment to open the lube.

"You absolutely sure you're okay with this?"

John's eyes bulged again; he nearly snickered. "Yes, absolutely, Dave. I mean, physically speaking, I can't think of another guy I've wanted as much as I want you right now."

"Lay back, unless you wanna do doggie style or side by side?"

John laid out and lifted his legs slightly, comfortable and disarmed. "No. This is good. I wanna watch your face, your body move." Dave was on his knees again, his fingers coated with lube, reaching downward between John's legs. "Fuck, you're- hi, oh _God_."

"There's the eye-thing again," Dave said, triumphant. "You like it?"

"Ah, _yeah_."

"Cool," Dave said as he inserted a second finger.

John winced, his legs twitching and Dave held still for a moment. "Too much?"

"Don't-don't stop, please. Oh shit- I just," John replied, unable to form a coherent response. He found himself touching his own dick again as Dave added a third finger.

"Ready for the real thing?" Dave asked thickly.

"Yeah, oh, fuck, yeah I am," John breathed out, just over an excited whisper.

Dave squirted another blob of lubricant into his hand and smeared it over his sheathed cock before reaching again under John's knees and raising his legs. As Dave pushed John's legs back and lowered himself onto John, John could feel Dave's wet, rigid cock sliding against and poking into him.

"Oh, _gawd_, this is so fucking hot," John's voice nearly whistled. "You don't know how I've thought about this happening and I..."

John's words were cut short by Dave placing his hand over John's mouth. "You talk too much. I'm having a good time too, but you need to relax."

Dave pulled his hand away from John's mouth. John was smiling timidly, blushing slight embarrassment. "Sorry."

Dave pressed his lips against John's, their tongues rolled together for a moment. "Listen, I like you too. It's okay to make some noise or exclaim something, but you're making my ears tired."

While his eyes were struck by the closeness of Dave's face and his mind was processing Dave's words, the sensation of Dave pushing himself into John came as a mild shock.

"Uh-huh..." John gasped.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," John answered. "I just didn't quite expect it just then. I mean, I was thinking about talking too much and then you kissed me and I guess I wasn't, oh, damn, I'm doing it again, sorry."

Dave snickered, his face mere centimeters from John's. John felt Dave back out though the two kept their close posture.

"I heard it's always easier to take when it's going in the second time," Dave whispered before he slid in again.

John's eyes rolled back before they closed completely, the action accompanied by a gasp. Dave lifted himself to his knees and pulled John's thighs closer onto him.

"Feel better that time?"

"Oh, _yeah_, fuck me, Dave."

Dave smiled and set himself into motion, thrusting into John; John responded by breathing loudly. He groped himself, his penis hard and dripping onto his belly before reaching upward to Dave's chest, running his hands through the dark hair and teasing his nipples.

"I was gonna stroke myself," John choked out between breaths, "but I'm not gonna last too long if I do."

"I wanna see you get off," Dave spoke, addressing John's eyes, "but I could probably go for a while."

"Really? It wouldn't bother me if I shot and you kept at it until you got off. I hope you're not gonna make me regret saying that"

Dave grinned, wicked. "Your call. We're both gonna unload either way."

Dave remained upright on his knees, John's legs resting on his thick shoulders. Their eyes were locked and John returned his right hand to his cock, slick with lube and precum, and began jerking it back-and-forth. He reached his left hand to Dave's chest; this action emboldened Dave to increase his speed and intensity. John's eyes widened as Dave's penetration deepened. Dave looked downward onto John. His left hand had fallen from Dave's chest, and his eyes were closed; his back was arching and his neck was extended back to its farthest position. Dave looked downward to see John's balls visibly tighten before he let out an extended sound. Repeated streams of thick, translucent-white fluid splattered against John's chest and belly.

John's eyes were closed, and his mouth was gaping. Dave fell forward onto him, wrapping his arms behind him, meeting John's mouth with his, and thrusting with a greater intensity. Their mouths dropped apart, and John lifted his head, tucking it against Dave's shoulder. Dave's repeated movement went on for some time, longer than John had reasonably anticipated. Eventually John's neck went limp and his head fell back onto the bed, but Dave's movements still seemed to be building. John's breathing became mixed with the sound of his voice: an audible rhythmic pant; Dave's penetrations had the precision and speed of a machine.

"You okay?" Dave forced out between breaths.

"Yeah," John responded, nearly a whimper. "Are you getting close?"

"Yeah. Real close. Just gimme a minute."

Finally, Dave's pounding slowed though the intensity of the depth of his movements remained. He closed his eyes, an expression of near pain on his face, as he pulled John close to himself, inhaled deeply, and met John's mouth and tongue with his own. Dave involuntarily bucked into John, causing John to emit a muffled grunt.

Their mouths parted, breathing freely for some time, both breaking a heavy sweat, their bodies remaining in the same locked position.

"I don't believe how long that went on," John uttered, exhausted.

"You okay?"

"Fuck _yeah_," John spat defensively.

Dave chuckled as he lifted himself from John, their torsos making a slick sound as the fluids between them loosened their hold.

"Sticky," John commented, grinning lazily.

"Little bit," Dave replied as he reached for two towels, tossed one onto John's belly, and blotted his chest with the other.

John remained lying on his back while Dave rolled the condom from himself and toweled.

"Make some space, please," Dave asked, sounding somewhat spent.

"Oh, sorry." John shifted to one side and straightened himself so he was no longer skew to the sides of the bed.

Dave lay on his back, pulling a light blanket over the two of them; there remained a space between him and John. He reached toward John, but John failed to move.

"Are you, like, uncomfortable?" Dave asked. "Hot or something?"

"No."

"Um, would you mind coming closer? I'd maybe like to hold your hand or put my arm around you."

"Okay." John rolled onto his side, and reached out his left hand, allowing Dave to take it in his.

"You _can_ get a little closer. I'm not gonna bite."

John nodded, but the expression on his face was indifferent, almost sad, as he shifted closer to Dave, resting his head on Dave's shoulder and allowing Dave's left arm to pull him closer.

In the dim light of the bedroom, the sound of their breathing pulled both Dave and John into sleep.

John awoke again in the dim room, the small light from the table lamp casting a glow. He needed to use the bathroom, almost painfully so. _Damned beers_, he thought to himself.

Dave seemed to be asleep, but John whispered his name, a quick, staccato syllable.

"Dave?"

"Mgh." Dave grunted, still lying on his back.

"I need to use the bathroom. I gotta piss."

"Straight across the hall from this room. Can't miss it."

"Thanks."

John found his jeans in the dim light and slid into them and his t-shirt. He opened the door to find the apartment as dark as it was when they came in. He had no idea what time it was; he could only be sure that it was sometime after one o'clock. He stepped into the hallway and found the bathroom easily.

While in the bathroom, John heard sounds outside in the hallway: movement. He zipped up and flushed the toilet, rinsed his hands, and opened the door to find himself face-to-face with Scoop.

"Hey, Da..." Scoop's face wrinkled a surprised smile. "Hey, John."

John nodded meekly. "Scoop."

He shuffled a few steps across the hall as Scoop watched, seemingly amused.

Once in Dave's bedroom, he felt himself somewhat shaken by having seen Scoop. He slowly sat down on the bed and debated getting dressed and leaving when he felt Dave grasp his arm and pull him down onto the bed.

"I... I just saw Scoop out in the hall."

"So what?"

"I guess he just got in."

"So what. You comin' back to bed?"

"You think I should?"

"I'd like you to."

John removed his shirt and jeans. He scanned the floor of the room for his boxer-briefs before Dave said, "What's taking you so long?"

"Uh, I'm looking for my briefs."

"You're not gonna need 'em."

John lifted the blanket and slid beneath, his back facing Dave, as he felt Dave roll over and pull him closer, and a rigid below-the-waist sensation.

"Oh, gawd," John spoke in a breathy whisper. "That's why you said I wasn't gonna need my briefs."

"Is that a problem?"

"Uh, no. Definitely not."

John could feel Dave's hand touching him, pressing against him, working in a finger.

"Geeze, Dave."

"You sure you're okay with this? If you're not, just tell me and I'll stop."

"No, it's cool. Definitely."

Dave reached around John with his other hand, touching and finding that he was certainly aroused.

"Cool," Dave whispered. "I wouldn't have wanted to go there if I wasn't sure you were into the idea."

John heard the sound of a condom pack being torn open and felt the sensation of cold lubricant against himself. He shuddered and rolled onto his belly, parting his legs and lying, expectant.

"This how you want it?" Dave asked.

"Yeah."

"And you're _sure_ you want it?"

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Definitely."

Dave stood upright on his knees, lowering himself. He slid into John, no resistance this time, and he could hear and feel John gasp and tremble under him. John was lying flat on the bed with his head turned to the left; Dave's upper body was raised as he braced himself on his elbows. He felt John shift and twist beneath him as he began to move himself back and forth, thrusting hard and deep immediately.

John had never approached climax this quickly before. He wasn't sure if it was the position or the circumstances or the animalism of the act, but he was getting very close.

Dave lowered himself from his elbows: his chest was now pressed against John's back and his speed and intensity increased. He took John's hands into his; Dave's lips ran over John's neck and shoulders. John turned his face to the left as far as he could, and their lips met over John's shoulder, and Dave's hips picked up a greater intensity.

John opened his mouth, emitting faint sounds. He could feel Dave's lips tracing over his ear and Dave's warm, moist breath against his skin; he could feel Dave's sweaty chest against his back, sliding and buckling with each thrust.

Dave felt John tremble beneath him momentarily as he raised his hips to meet Dave's pelvis more directly, straight-on. This invited Dave to increase his speed and depth. Dave felt John's grip on his hands tighten as John pushed back onto Dave and held this position in what felt to John like an extended period of weightless bliss. He could feel Dave's thrusts becoming more intense and regular.

As earlier, John found Dave's stamina alarming; he couldn't deny, however, that he _liked_ the way he felt, wrapped in Dave's arms and taking everything Dave could give him, Dave unconsciously pushing his limits. Finally, Dave's movements reached a height then slowed; and Dave pulled John into himself tightly, gripping John's hands in his for a moment. Dave exhaled loudly, a sound part breath and part sigh, as he let his weight drop softly onto John's back and rested his head on top of John's for a moment, both of them breathing audibly.

"I awakened a sleeping giant," John whispered. "I guess I had that coming."

"Was it a bad thing?" Dave asked, his voice raising in pitch slightly.

"No, it was hot and it was wild and spontaneous. I need a towel."

Dave snickered and lifted himself from John, reaching for the towels he'd tossed to the floor earlier. As John rolled to his side, Dave placed a towel in front of him and reached around to pull him closer.

"What are you doing?" John asked, sounding exhausted but amused.

"I want you close to me for a while," Dave spoke, low and smooth-sounding. "That way, if we're occupying nearly the same space, you can't accuse me of hogging the covers."

John smiled and settled into Dave's embrace as Dave reached forward, sensing with his hand a saturated patch on the bedsheet.

"What the?" Dave spoke, confused for a moment, "Holy crap, you unloaded, didn't you?"

John laughed to himself. "Yep."

"You weren't even touching yourself or anything."

"No, but you were creating a fair amount of friction between me and the mattress, and you were, I guess, hitting me in the right place. Repeatedly. And it's not like there was much point in me holding back."

Dave reached to the lower level of his bedside table, pulling another towel upward, and swabbing at the spot for a moment.

"You comfortable?" Dave asked.

"Mm-hm," John murmured.

"Comfortable enough to get back to sleep?"

"Yeah, I don't think I'll have any problem sleeping after that."

"Okay."

John closed his eyes and felt Dave kiss the back of his head.

Daylight was breaking when John woke again. Dave's bedroom was surprisingly bright in the daylight, but it was John's bladder, not the light, which had caused John to wake.

In the light, it was easy for him to locate his jeans and T-shirt. He slid from the bed, dressed quickly, and stepped from Dave's bedroom to the hall to the bathroom.

As he exited the bathroom he heard a voice coming from the living room.

"Hey."

John turned his head, surprised, to see Scoop sitting on the couch.

"Scoop?"

"C'mere. I wanna talk to you."

John approached the living room and addressed Scoop more closely. Scoop's expression was stern.

"Here it is. I like your friend Katie. Me and her hit it off right away, and I had a great time with her last night. Thing is, Dave's been my best friend for a couple of years now. I know the two of you have gone out a few times, and I know it hasn't exactly been, like, a perfect experience. I was glad to see you show up last night. I was glad to see Dave having a good time with you, but I didn't expect to come back and find out that you guys spent the night together. I guess what I'm saying is, don't fuck with his head, okay? I know Dave can make his own decisions and do what he wants to do, but, fuck, if you mess with his head, I will hunt you down and make you one miserable motherfucker, and if that fucks up things between Katie and me, so be it. Understood?"

"Yeah," John answered, quiet, as he nodded, twitchy.

The two remained for a moment: John standing nervously at the threshold of the living room, facing Scoop, and Scoop seated on the couch, staring at the blank television screen.

"That's it, man," Scoop finally spoke.

John nodded and shuffled quickly to the bedroom.

Once inside, he scanned the room quickly to gather his things. Dave began to stir, raising his head, squinting at the light and shaking his head, following John around the room.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"You have somewhere to be? Early morning church service, maybe?"

"Nah. Your roommate just read me the riot act."

"Huh?"

"Told me not to fuck with your head."

Dave laughed hazily, his mind still fuzzy from sleep. "Listen, I love Scoop, but don't you think I make my own mind on things?"

"Yeah, I guess," John's actions slowed, and he was near enough to the bed for Dave to reach out and grab his arm.

"Come here," Dave said as he tugged John's arm.

"Hey, let go," John fought not to laugh but ultimately smirked into a giggle as Dave succeeded in pulling him onto the bed.

Dave sat up and pinned John's shoulders flat to the bed. Both faces were smiling at each other.

"So, wha, I guess you wanna fuck me again?" John asked.

"Well, um, you suggested it," Dave spoke, "and if _you're_ up for it, I am."

"Why the hell not?" John answered and he sat up and lifted his shirt up over his head.

Dave met John's mouth with his own as John unbuttoned and slid out of his jeans, an action which was far more agile than one might have assumed given the circumstances. Dave pushed John onto his right side, kissing the back of his neck and pulling him close. John heard Dave tear open a condom packet as he pulled his left leg up close to his chest, granting access. Dave's left hand rubbed a smear of lubricant onto John's erection, then reached downward, his fingers penetrating, before sliding his penis into John, causing John's back to arch, pulling his face closer to Dave's.

John's eyes were closed, and it took almost no time for Dave to reach his peak intensity. This time, though, Dave's lubricated left hand was wrapped around John's throbbing cock. With his right arm, Dave pulled John closer; John turned his head to the extreme left so their lips could meet. The position provided a level of contact and closeness that nearly overwhelmed John. Dave found himself nearing climax within minutes, much sooner than either of the earlier times.

"I'm getting' close," Dave muttered, breathy, in John's ear.

"I could probably go any time," John replied, eyes still closed.

As before, Dave's movements slowed and deepened. The action pushed John over the same edge and he erupted, panting, as Dave drove final, slow, involuntarily thrusts into him.

Dave lifted himself over John's face and kissed him; John welcomed and reciprocated the action. Dave lowered himself and the two reposed in that position for a time.

"I know you don't know what you want, and maybe you're a little afraid of what you might feel or of getting into something too deep," Dave spoke, nearly startling John. "I'm not sure what I'm looking for either. I don't think I'm looking to be into something steady right now."

"Gotcha."

"I had a good time last week when I met you at that movie, and the talk we had afterward was cool. I had a good time hanging with you last night at the show. I had an awesome time after the show."

"Check, check, and check."

"I could be up for hanging with you regularly, maybe as a friend." Dave paused for a moment. "Maybe more than that. I don't know. I don't think I'm ready to make that call yet."

"Gotcha."

"We don't know each other very well. We actually barely know each other. I do know that neither of us were drunk or mentally compromised when we left that show last night."

"Agreed."

"It was something that felt right at the time."

"Yep."

With that, John stirred and and began to gather his clothing and dress himself. Dave, likewise, found his boxer-briefs and slid into a white T-shirt and running-shorts. John's process of dressing himself was clumsy and hurried-looking.

"I gotta say, that was the first time I ever actually spent the night with someone," Dave said drawing a surprised look from John.

"I mean, dude, I had sex before last night," Dave added quickly.

"No kiddin'?" John voiced with a wise-ass inflection and a sarcastic smirk.

Dave laughed. "No, seriously, every other time it's been, like, we have a half-hour before somebody's roommate gets home or we have a 20-minute grope-session in a car or something. It was literally the first time I spent the night with someone. It was kinda awesome."

John nodded. "So, I'm one of your firsts for something."

Dave shrugged. "Yeah. It was really nice. Thank you."

"Welcome."

"Y'know, I _would_ be cool with seeing you again. Another movie, coffee, drag me to a friend's party as your date."

"Same."

"Well, door's open," Dave spoke. "I'm gonna leave that ball in your court for now."

John nodded. "Okay."

* * *

_Referenced songs:  
__Iggy and the Stooges: "Search and Destroy"  
__Blondie: "Rapture"  
__Cheap Trick: "I Want You To Want Me"  
__AC/DC: "Whole Lotta Rosie"_


	8. Debunking the Myth

**Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.**

**The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.**

**Thank you.**

**The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series _Glee_.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 10,000**

* * *

Forty-one Days Later

The flight from PDX to Dayton International clocked a little over eight hours, including a two-hour-plus layover in Chicago. Though he left Portland just after five-thirty in the morning, it would be nearing five o'clock in the afternoon when he arrived in Ohio once one accounted for the three-hour time-difference.

Dave had entrusted Scoop with his car for the next ten days while Dave visited his father in Lima, and Scoop felt it was the least he could do to be awake and able at three-thirty in the morning to drive Dave to the airport (Dave had planned on taking a bus, but Scoop simply wouldn't hear of it).

Dave planned on sleeping for most of the lengthy flight, but it didn't happen. He wasn't sure if it was some mild anxiety about returning to Ohio after having been away for over two years or other thoughts which were occupying his mind. He knew that when he returned to Portland after his ten days away, things would be markedly different. On the first of June, Dave would begin a summer internship at the research department of a company that manufactured precision sheet metal products (it might not have been as interesting as an internship with the energy research lab which Dave also explored as an option, but it was more related to his field of study and its location was more convenient). Also, the month of June would see Scoop and the band busy preparing for their European tour for which they'd be leaving on the last day of June and returning to Portland on the twenty-seventh of July. This was the first time since Dave's move to Portland that Scoop would be elsewhere: they'd even spent holidays and semester breaks together, with Dave feeling like Scoop's parents and siblings were becoming extended family. The unfamiliarity of the immediate future was not a worrisome one, though: Dave knew that August would bring things back to normal with both Scoop and himself preparing for the upcoming fall semester. The few months prior were certainly filled with as much exploration into uncharted territories for Dave and, via association, the rest of his group of friends, and all of that resulted in an ultimately benign outcome for all involved (or all those that Dave actually cared about, at least).

It began with his talk with Scoop one Sunday morning in late February, his coming out to their mutual friends a couple of weeks later followed by a period of uncertainty and isolation which was vanquished one Saturday night in early April, a rowdy night at a rock club during which his friends welcomed his presence with open arms. Dark areas remained, though. Knowledge of his parents' separation and impending divorce, a legal formality at this point, was a another reminder, though an undesirable one, that things surrounding him, even those affecting him directly, were in a constant state of flux. If his parent's union of matrimony, something that Dave had always took in faith as a constant, was so easily reversed, nothing seemed terribly certain. Faith was indeed a fragile thing, Dave decided.

And there were some new faces and names, friends Dave made through online contact and physically getting out of his apartment during the dark uncertain period that dominated the month of March. There was Garrett who was a lot of fun but maybe just a little too wild for Dave's more reserved comfort-zone; there was Ralph, the former-trendy who was perhaps finding a more reserved comfort-zone of his own, a nice enough guy, another someone who could be a good friend someday; there were several faces to which it was easier for Dave to attach a screen-name as, despite their occasional conversations, he'd never met them in person and their actual names were exchanged few times (he was likely still titanK to these people).

And then there was John.

John's presence, though often invisible, was consistently felt in the events of the last couple of months. Their conversation at the Tardis Bar on a Saturday night in late February was the catalyst for Scoop's conversation with Dave early the following morning, the one in which Scoop reassured Dave that his sexual orientation was immaterial in their friendship. If Dave's next meetings with John were confounding, they, combined with Scoop's unconditional acceptance, silently encouraged Dave to be open with his friends about himself. The resulting events motivated Dave to seek friends and acquaintances via other avenues which eventually led him to seek John out in his absence, though not under the best of circumstances or assumptions. Though John's actions were often irrational and unexplainable (and debatably infuriating, even suspect), in the strangest of ways, Dave found in John someone to whom he could relate, even feel comfortable, someone who didn't hold Dave to superficial standards, someone who, when sufficiently calm, could be an engaging conversationalist.

John might not have been conventionally attractive on the surface in many peoples' eyes, but he possessed an infectious smile which Dave felt difficult to resist. The two also possessed the ability to make each other laugh, and this was something that they found arousing in each other.

The time that John brought his friend Katie to see Omnivore put the potential of their initial meeting at the Tardis Bar to the test, and both were rewarded with a likely conclusion: an incredibly fun time at the club followed by multiple occurrences of mutually-welcomed, if uncompromising, sex in the early-morning hours. Neither really seemed sure of what followed, however. John seemed to be trying to retain an emotional distance from the occurrence; Dave, though professing to having had a great time with John, seemed ambivalent, possibly sensing John's distance. Whatever the case, it didn't end there.

Dave was somewhat surprised to hear from John the following Tuesday afternoon. John had been put on a panel which was tasked with selecting films to be screened at an upcoming film festival and called to ask Dave if he'd be interested in sitting through one or two of them with him. Dave's agreement led to further meetings, sometimes a beer after Dave's classes, sometimes coffee at midday, sometimes they were followed by late-night chats at John's loft. Dave had even twice managed, after some amount of friendly persuasion, to talk John into joining him and his other friends for their occasional Sunday afternoon basketball games. These meetings, numerous as they became, however, were markedly casual and entirely platonic. It might have seemed awkward that the physical contact between the two of them was confined to greeting and departing handshakes, but neither questioned the practice, not even to themselves.

Dave certainly felt that there was something to discover in John, and their late night talks were sometimes revealing. As Dave accepted his parents' divorce as a certainty, John revealed that he weathered two divorces while living with his father. John had moved a great deal and lived in many places from a young age through his teens, a nomadic existence dictated by his father's whims and partner-of-the-moment (his dad was currently on his third wife, and, of his seven siblings, there were two of whom he'd never met). Though the revelation of John's family background offered Dave no direct insight into his current feelings about his parents' situation, John's openness was consoling.

There were also things John didn't reveal which Dave discovered on his own. Dave knew that John wrote something called fan-fiction, and searching on a few key terms revealed online works published by an author who went by the name Redcub 87, their profile picture being the same cartoon bear which Dave had seen on John's desktop image. Dave didn't delve too deeply into the works he found as he wasn't acquainted with the source material or the characters, but the small amount that he did read revealed that John was a competent writer with an engaging style whose craft was frequently hurried and sloppy. Dave also found some reviews of a documentary film which John had made a couple of years prior. Though the reviews were very positive, it seemed that the film was screened only briefly at the time of its completion and disappeared thereafter.

He decided that he'd perhaps explore Redcub 87's writing again at a later time. For the present time, however, Dave's final exams were looming in his near future followed by ten days in Ohio, a visit at his father's request. Before Dave's schedule became too hectic, Scoop and Katie, who it seemed were getting closer by the day, planned an extravagant double-date for themselves and John and Dave, a dressy dinner-cruise aboard a replica nineteenth-century steam-driven riverboat.

After the cruise, with all parties comfortably fed with prime rib, dessert, and wine, the four diners filed into Dave's car with Scoop volunteering to drive then back to their respective homes (Scoop had been modest in his alcohol consumption that evening, feeling that the responsibility to drive should not always fall to Dave; Dave, in turn, welcomed the gesture).

On this particular evening, John seemed less guarded, complimenting Dave on his appearance (and it was obvious from his expression that he liked how Dave looked that evening). Dave returned the compliment: seeing John dressed in a tasteful suit accented with a wildly-colored necktie and a bowler hat was refreshing, downright charming; and John's spirits seemed elevated with the temperament of his playfully-formal attire.

If the music accompanying the ride home caused John, Katie, and Scoop to sing along boisterously (John even coaxed Dave to singing along with Joan Jett's "I Hate Myself for Loving You" when it came on the radio), the four of them succumbed to a quieter mood as they drew closer to their destinations. Scoop and Katie held hands across the front seats while John let himself fall against Dave in the backseat, eventually placing his head against Dave's shoulder, taking Dave's hand into his, and resting them both on Dave's chest. If their meetings since the night they spent together were merely friendly, the physical closeness of this moment felt out of place to neither Dave nor John.

Despite his earlier reservations, Scoop was taking a liking to John (probably a consequence of dating one of John's best friends), and Scoop asked Dave, at times numerous and regular, about the status of Dave's association with John. Dave's answer was always the same: he enjoyed John's company and was fairly sure that the feeling was mutual, but, beyond that, he had no answer.

And beyond that moment of physical touch after the dinner-cruise, the contact ceased. It didn't seem cold or abrupt to Dave, merely a consequence of their individual lives diverging for a time. Dave was busy with schoolwork, spending nearly every available free moment studying for his final exams; John's schedule hit a level of critical mass when his obligations for the upcoming film festival combined with a last-minute rush of editing work for potential entrants into that festival. It was understandable that, when Dave left a voicemail message for John, inviting him to have a drink with Dave and his friends when Dave's finals were complete, the response would come in the form of a text message a full two days later.

John: _Sorry, I've been crazy-busy with this festival and all of the editing work. Looking forward to regrouping with you when this madness is over. I'll get in touch with you then, I promise._ 5:53PM

Dave had received the message five days prior on Sunday the tenth of May; he was staring at it on the screen of his phone when the in-flight announcement was made, informing the passengers that they would soon be landing at Dayton International Airport. It was the afternoon of Friday the fifteenth of May, the sun was clear and inching toward the western sky, casting golden light and tall shadows. Dave felt anxious, some sense of nervousness, but he was certainly looking forward to seeing his father.

As Dave, with two soft carry-on bags slung over his shoulder, traversed the long ramp to the crowded concourse, politely dodging slower-moving people, he nearly broke into a jog. He could see Paul waiting at a distance, just beyond the arrival gate, raising his left arm into the air and waving: the sight brought an immediate and unmistakably elated smile to Dave's face. As Dave drew closer, he could see that Paul was smiling to an equal degree. As each pulled the other into his arms, exchanging a rough, solid hug, Dave felt his father kiss the side of his face.

"Hey, Dad," Dave spoke through an almost painful involuntary smile, one too genuinely inspired to be accompanied by a laugh.

"Missed you so much, David."

Paul loosened his grip after a moment, backing away so they could see each other's face. Paul's smile wrinkled at its sides; he blinked, visibly holding back tears, and Dave's eyes followed the action.

"You look great, David. Two years away is too long. When I saw you last, you were six months out of being a high school kid. You look all grown-up now, and I feel like I missed it."

"Aw, Dad," Dave's words countered, quick. "I'm still your kid. I'm still your little buddy. I'll always be."

Paul's smile lost its uncertain edge and he laughed, playfully slapping Dave's shoulder with his palm.

They took in each other's face again for a moment before Paul said, "So, are you hungry?"

Dave snickered and nodded. "I'm _starved_. I haven't eaten since, like, _hours_ ago, and it was just some lousy turkey sandwich and a bag of peanuts."

Paul nodded again. "Well, what say we go claim your bags, get your stuff, and figure out what you want for dinner? This week is all about you."

Paul and Dave turned and began moving briskly in the direction of the baggage claim.

"All about _me_?" Dave asked, smirking. "I'm not complaining, but you've been planning this for weeks, you're on vacation from work for the _entire_ week, and you're telling me that you don't have stuff planned out for us to do every day like I thought you would?"

Paul chuckled for a moment. "Well, starting Monday, yes, but tomorrow is just for you to recuperate and get your bearings from your flight, maybe we can do something tomorrow evening. Sunday, no specific plans, but one of the neighbors is having a barbecue if you're up for it."

Dave grinned, nodding. "So, since you mentioned it, what do you have planned for next week? What's Monday?"

"Monday, I have tickets for the Reds game in Cincinnati"

"Ah," Dave smiled and nodded as the two walked. "Been ages since I've been to a baseball game."

"Tuesday and Wednesday are open, but I have some ideas, like maybe going out to Cleveland on Tuesday, hitting some of the museums there, staying overnight, and coming back Wednesday. If you're not interested in that, there're some things to do closer to home, maybe catch a movie, or the Allen County fair is going on until next weekend."

"Any of that stuff sounds fine," Dave offered.

"Most of all, you and I have a lot of catching-up to do," Paul spoke, still smiling and clear-sounding. "Thursday we'll be packing because we'll be leaving early Friday morning to meet with your Uncle Jim and your cousins at Port Clinton for some fishing and boating. Staying through until Saturday. You up for that?"

Dave smiled. "Yeah, that sounds great. I haven't done anything like that since I was, like, in junior-high."

Paul smiled, chuckled a deep, satisfied laugh, before asking, "So what _do_ you want for dinner tonight?"

"Aw, Dad, I'd be fine with, like, pizza and wings or something."

"No way," Paul dismissed Dave's suggestion. "I haven't seen you in over two years. We have all week to subsist on pizza and wings, and we'll probably be having them for dinner tomorrow."

"So much for the week being all about me," Dave razzed, good-natured.

"Set your sights a little higher, David. I want to have a really nice dinner with my kid who I have missed like crazy. Steak. And beer. You're legal now. You drink beer?"

Dave giggled, almost embarrassed-sounding. "Dad, I'm a college student and my best friend manages a bar-band. Of course I drink beer."

Paul nodded and grinned, almost devilishly as they slowed, nearing the baggage carousel. "That settles it, then."

* * *

After dining on steak and drinking beer at Dayton's nationally-known steakhouse the Fir Club (after a twenty-five minute wait which they spent sitting at the bar and watching the Reds game on the television), they began the drive back to Lima.

"So, where am I going to stay at the house?" Dave asked. "Do I get to sleep in my old room?"

"You get your choice," Paul answered, nodding, assured. "You can have the guest room or your old bedroom, or you can crash on the gameroom couch for all I care. As long as you're happy during your stay, you can sleep wherever you want to."

Dave nodded. He was happy to see his father, and he was looking forward to the next eight days before he'd be returning to Portland on Sunday the twenty-fourth of May. Though the eastern sky was darkening, the setting sun was still shining golden when Paul turned the corner onto his block; Dave's mood darkened when he saw the realtor's for-sale sign in the front yard of his childhood home. He'd known that his father had put the house on the market, but until he saw the sign, it was something abstract; the sign was tangible, proof.

Paul noticed Dave's subtle shift in mood as he drove his car into the house's garage and helped Dave carry his luggage upstairs. Once inside, though, Dave's mood brightened again, though he was fatigued by the long flight and the heavy dinner.

In order to bypass hauling his luggage up to his old attic-space bedroom, Dave stayed the night in the guest room. He slept well and woke at seven o'clock the next morning to find his father in the kitchen making coffee.

"Hey, David," Paul greeted brightly, "Did you sleep well?"

"I slept like a rock, really solid," Dave spoke, a crooked smile and hair in disarray. "What do you have around for breakfast?"

"I was thinking we could just have coffee and go out for break..."

"Dad, we're probably gonna be eating out every day while I'm here in one way or another," Dave stopped his dad short. "I'd just kinda like to have a quiet morning talking and catching up with you over breakfast. I mean, if that's alright with you. And, um, if you have anything to eat around the house."

Paul chuckled. "Of course I have things to eat. I have some cereal and the normal stuff, eggs, bacon, fruit, bread, milk. I'm pretty-much just shopping for myself right now, though, so there's not much variety, just the stuff that I normally eat. Oh, I did get some various bagels from the bakery at the grocery store. I guess I did prepare on some level for a visitor." Paul nodded, perhaps betraying slight disappointment in himself though warmed that Dave wanted to have a quiet morning chatting with him over breakfast.

"Do you cook or anything?"

"Um," Paul looked blank for a moment. "Nothing above an occasional burger or fried egg sandwich. No point in cooking a meal for just one person, really. Been eating a lot of frozen dinners."

Dave rolled his eyes before opening the refrigerator and quickly checking its contents, gathering a few items, and taking them to the counter.

"Sit down and enjoy your coffee, Dad. It'll be my pleasure to make breakfast for the both of us."

"_You_ can cook?" Paul shot a skeptical expression at Dave.

"Yeah," Dave grinned wide and crooked. "It might not be anything fancy, but I _can_ cook. I guarantee it'll be at least _edible_."

"What're you gonna make?" Paul asked, visibly surprised.

"Just sit down and have your coffee," Dave reached for his father's shoulders and guided him to a chair. "Just a couple of omelets."

Dave reached into the cupboards for cooking utensils, two skillets, a cutting board, and two dinner plates. Paul watched, somewhat intrigued, somewhat baffled. Within twenty minutes, Dave placed two plates on the table: omelets and toast for each of them.

"It looks and smells really good," Paul eyed the plate with some hesitancy, the scent of bacon and fresh tomatoes combining with the visual of melted cheese and fluffy egg beckoning his senses..

"What are you waiting for?" Dave playfully goaded as he cut into the food on his plate. "Eat."

Paul smiled and dug into his breakfast. After swallowing his first mouthful, he proclaimed, wide-eyed, "This is awesome."

"Thanks," Dave nodded, eyebrow raised and smug.

"When'd _you _learn how to do this?"

"C'mon, dad. What'd you expect me to live on cold cereal and canned spaghetti?"

Paul shrugged, humming a questioning noise through a mouthful of food.

"I mean, my roommate's an awesome cook, and I got to be pretty good at it," Dave explained as he downed a gulp of coffee. "If I wanted something that I didn't know how to make, I just looked it up on a recipe website and learned how to make it. Stuff like this is pretty easy."

"I regret missing your transformation from kid to completely resourceful and competent adult, but the evidence before me is rewarding nonetheless."

Dave smirked and mock-bowed. "Glad you approve."

The two ate for some moments in silence before Paul spoke again.

"Uhm..." Paul began but nothing followed immediately.

"Hmm?" Dave questioned after a moment, wordless, mouth full of food.

"Uhm," Paul began again. "Um, I'm your dad, and I want to _be_ your dad."

Dave shook his head, a perplexed expression.

"Um, I hope this isn't awkward. I mean, if you were, um, _straight_, it might be, um, _expected_ of a father to ask his son if he's dating anyone or if he's met any nice girls." Paul's face flushed deep red at this point. "I guess what I want to ask is, um, are you _dating_ anyone? Anyone _interesting_ or, um, _special_ in your life?"

Dave exhaled loudly, a sound of relief. "Dad, don't get yourself all worked-up."

Paul shook his head, seeming relieved by Dave's casual reaction, the normal color returning to his face. "Like I said, I wanna be your dad. I wanna talk about stuff like that with you. I _care_ about you."

"I've dated a little," Dave began his answer. "Nothing serious. No one for longer than a few weeks. I'm trying to make friends first, I guess. I'm young and I guess I'm still trying to figure out what I'm looking for."

"You're being careful, right?" Paul asked, a concerned expression, "Cautious?"

"_Yes_, Dad," Dave raised his head and addressed Paul directly. "Y'know though, would you have even asked that if I was straight and dating girls? Because, really, the same should apply."

Paul looked away, blushing again. "Yeah, you're right. I probably wouldn't have asked that. Sorry."

"Dad," Dave reached across the table for his father's hand. "I'm glad you asked. I'm glad you're _interested_. I'm glad that you're not just, like, _ignoring_ that part of me, or _in denial_ or something."

Paul shook his head and smiled, somewhat embarrassed. "Yeah, but it's awkward, and I'm messing up."

"You're _not_ messing up," Dave corrected, voice louder and looking at Paul straight-on. "You're doing _great_. And next time you ask, it'll be a lot less awkward."

Paul laughed, relieved, nodding, as he returned his attention to his breakfast.

"Well," Paul continued, "you said you're trying to figure out what you're looking for?"

"Um, yeah, I mean, I know I want a long-term partner someday, but other than that, I'm not sure what I'm looking for in that person."

"Well, I just want you to be happy," Paul directed his eyes at Dave's.

"I'm twenty one," Dave reminded. "I'm young. No need to be married off yet."

Paul smirked and nodded. "Do your friends know? Are you, um, _out_ to your friends?"

Dave was slightly humored by his father's being unaccustomed to using terms of the specific vernacular.

"Yeah, I'm out to my friends," Dave began. "That's a more _recent_ development, but they all know, and they're all good with it. They love me just as much as they did before they knew."

"Just like me," Paul smiled directly at Dave, smiling in return.

"You mentioned yesterday that we were going to meet Uncle Jim and Aunt Sally and their kids at Port Clinton next weekend," Dave began.

"Yeah," Paul spoke, cutting a sizable piece from his omelet and lifting it with his fork. "Jim and Sally ask about you all the time. They're looking forward to seeing you."

"They, um, _know_ about me then?" Dave's turn to sound unsure.

After swallowing and gulping a drink of water and clearing his throat, Paul's face became serious but benign. "Yes. Jim and Sally know, and their kids are, I think, nine and fourteen, and they know also."

"And they're _okay_ with all of that? I mean, Jim always seemed like such a... _redneck_."

"You know, Jim is a member of that hunting lodge out at Northwood," Paul began, slowly, calm. "That's where we'll be staying next weekend. Anyway, that community up there, there's a couple of guys who live in a big A-frame house. It's about a half-mile from the lodge. They've been part of that community for as long as any of us can remember. Everyone up there knows that they're a couple, and it's something those people understand and accept. They might not talk about it in plain terms, they might not call them a _gay_ couple, but everyone knows what they are. Anyway, everybody's friendly with them, and nobody gives them any trouble. Jim says they hang out at the lodge when people are there during the hunting season. They're always welcome and everybody likes them."

Dave was silent, processing the information.

"When things went bad for you in high school, David, Jim came forward and told me about that. I guess it was his way of saying that it didn't matter, that he loved you for the person you are, and the fact that you're gay didn't change that. His wife feels the same way, and they've taught their kids that too. When Jim told me that, it really helped me a lot."

Dave nodded, silent momentarily.

"So, um, where's mom staying?"

Paul's face hardened. "She's staying with her sister in Spencerville right now. She's looking for an apartment."

"Spencerville's pretty close," Dave mentioned.

"David, you really shouldn't make an attempt to contact or see your mother while you're here," Paul spoke, blunt, pausing for a moment. "I mean, if you really want to, I can't stop you, but that side of the family won't be nearly as welcoming as my side is."

"I get that, but, like, for the entire time since I've been away at school, I get cards from her on every birthday and for every holiday. I mean, they were just cards, but I was happy to get them from her, and seemed like she was making an effort."

"David, I was sending those cards and signing her name to them."

A cold silence fell between them before Paul continued.

"Um, I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to do that, I know."

"It's okay Dad," Dave spoke with a thickness in his voice that passed quickly. "It just means that you wanted things to be normal. You wanted me to think that things were okay, that we were still something like a family."

"Yeah," Paul shrugged. "But when I told you about the divorce, it must have been really confusing, you having received conflicting signals every time you got a card in the mail. By then, I was sending those cards almost out of habit or something because I knew your mother's and my days together were numbered."

"I can't fault you for that, Dad," Dave spoke, clear and soft. "You did it because you care about me. It might have been wrong, but I might have done the same thing if I was in your situation about someone I cared about."

Paul raised his eyes to Dave's and smiled timidly. Dave smiled, although broader, in return.

* * *

If the weekend and the early part of the following week passed quickly, with Dave and Paul visiting Paul's parents early on Sunday afternoon, a neighbor's backyard barbecue Sunday evening, and a terrific time at the baseball game in Cincinnati on Monday (Dave and Paul took shifts driving the over-two-hour commute each way, Dave found himself, when immediate distractions were removed, dwelling on his feelings of displacement: he might have grown up in Ohio, but his life was elsewhere.

Tuesday and Wednesday were spent closer to home, and Dave was able to get out early both days for a morning run. After Monday's substantial driving, neither he nor his father were interested in a day-trip to Cleveland as Paul had earlier suggested. They visited the county fair on Tuesday, sampling so many various foods there that they didn't bother to formally eat dinner that evening (and getting caught in an early-season rainstorm on the walk back to parking lot, the downpour rendering their clothes soaked and their demeanor frantic and giddy by the time they reached the shelter of Paul's car).

Wednesday afternoon found the pair catching an action movie at the local multiplex theater and dining on burgers (multiple burgers) and fries at QP Burgers (something of a Lima fast-food legend, and something Dave truly missed in Portland; _pickle on top makes your heart go flippity-flop_: their slogan was etched on Dave's mind since childhood). Paul even bought a bag of burgers to take home so he and Dave could enjoy them with a couple of beers later in the evening. The burgers were as good as Dave remembered; the action movie, not so much: could it be that his brief exposure to independent films and low-budget documentaries made the action movies he favored only a few months prior seem trivial and vapid by comparison?

Dave slept in his old attic-space bedroom on Tuesday and Wednesday evening, lying awake for some time before sleep came. He didn't feel nervous or anxious so much as bored and restless. He quietly missed Portland and his friends there, but he knew he'd be home soon enough. The feeling that his life had permanently changed was a decisive one, real as the sign that advertised the house that he'd grown up in as being for sale.

For the majority of the day Thursday, Dave and Paul packed and prepared for their weekend fishing trip with Dave's uncle's family, leaving the house to shop for last-minute supplies and, of course, for a pizza-and-wings dinner stop. The evening was quiet and found Dave restless; his dad lazily surfed channels on the television.

"Hey, have you told any of your old friends that you're in Lima for the week?" Paul asked, eyes slowly addressing Dave.

"No," Dave answered slowly. "I've lost contact with pretty-much all of my old friends. I mean, I didn't have many friends here when I left for Portland back in 2012, and, the ones that I did have, I haven't heard from them in a long time."

Paul was tired, exhausted actually, from the day, actually the entire week thus far; and he was sensing Dave's restlessness.

"If you want to go out, feel free to take the car, drive around," Paul offered, adding a smirk. "I can tell you're bored."

"What are you gonna do?" Dave asked, surprised at Paul's suggestion.

Paul chuckled. "Probably just go to sleep early. We have a lot of driving tomorrow morning, and I'm kinda winding down for the day." He lifted himself slightly from his recliner, dug into his pocket, fished out his car keys, and tossed them to Dave.

"Thanks," Dave spoke as he caught the keys using both hands. "I won't be out too late, and I'll call to let you know if I'll be out past, say, eleven. I'll be wanting to get some decent sleep tonight also."

Paul nodded a reply as Dave stood from the couch.

Lima hadn't changed much, if at all, in two years, Dave decided as he drove the routes around the town, just as familiar to him as when he'd left, other than a few closed storefronts, a few new specialty businesses and restaurants, and a few newly-developed housing and condominium communities. Scandals hadn't changed at all either, Dave thought to himself as he drove into the parking lot just as dusk had overtaken the sky.

Dave took a seat at the bar and ordered his typical beer just as he had nearly three years ago when he was underage and using a fake ID. The bar wasn't overly crowded, but there were a fair amount of people in attendance.

For the duration of three songs, the jukebox was pumping out typical thumpy dance-club music and seventies-era disco-diva songs: that hadn't changed either, Dave mused with a grin.

"Well, _well_, fancy running into _you_ here, big boy."

Dave turned to the source of the theatrically-inflected voice over his shoulder to see a familiar face in the dim glow.

_"Kurt?"_ Dave pronounced, sure of his eyes but displaying a quizzical smile nonetheless.

"The one and only," Kurt answered, giving a theatrical gesture, a kind-of modified combination of a runway twirl and a curtsy.

After a silent moment of mutual recognition, Dave and Kurt both broke into quiet laughter before speaking again.

"What brings you here?" Kurt began, "Last I remember, you were going to school in Portland."

"Yeah, um, well, I still am," Dave responded brightly if slightly stuttered, still somewhat taken aback. "Visiting my dad for the week."

"Aahhh," Kurt raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly.

"What about you? Still in New York?"

"Yes indeed," Kurt answered after taking a long sip from his drink, a pinkish drink in a martini glass with a lime peel and a cherry floating in it that smelled fruity and strong even at a conversational distance. "I just finished my third year at NYADA. I'm here for the week house-sitting while Dad and Stepmom are away at Myrtle Beach."

Dave nodded and smiled, feeling warmed by the reunion.

"David, what say we go sit down at a booth and get caught up?"

Dave's smile broke a friendly, disarmed near-laugh: this was the most at-ease he'd felt in days. "Lead the way," he spoke as he slowly stood from his barstool.

The booth was situated under an overhead light, affording the two of them a better-illuminated vision of the other. Dave was struck immediately my an almost artificial luminescence coming from Kurt's face: a pasty, almost crackling layer of foundation. Kurt's hair was stretched to an exaggerated stiffened height, almost a parody of an appealing image; and his clothes, all angles and loud day-glow colors and impossibly tight pants, smacked of something more appropriate to someone in their teens. The image struck Dave as somewhat ghastly: the realization that Kurt was aging into his early twenties gracelessly. Despite this, Dave summoned a polite smile as he seated himself opposite the table from Kurt.

Dave was wearing a light-blue short-sleeved button-down shirt with a small, subtle plaid pattern, relaxed jeans, and running shoes, his complexion subtly and naturally colored from running, basketball, and other outdoor activities.

"You look good, David," Kurt pronounced, raising his eyebrows and grinning, slightly crooked and playful.

Dave smiled more fully, acknowledging the compliment. "Thank you, Kurt."

Kurt's eyes opened wider and scanned the length of Dave's form. "Still a fashion Philistine, though, I see."

Dave rolled his eyes but retained his smile and polite demeanor. "Hey, it works for me. I'd rather feel comfortable and look presentable than feel totally out of my element in something just to make a statement."

"Mmm, point taken," Kurt's eyes widened, affected surprise.

Dave addressed Kurt's eyes and nodded, raising an eyebrow and smiling, slightly crooked but appreciative.

"I mean, you're right, having the looks and the body for the cutting edge is not enough," Kurt expanded. "You need the attitude as well. Good for you for knowing your limitations. You're right to leave the daring, forward-fashion looks for the professionals." Kurt ended his sentence with a theatrical flourish, an arm gesture from a sitting position akin to the earlier standing curtsy.

"Yup," Dave answered, monosyllabic: agreeable but robotic. It occurred to Dave that many of the things that he secretly admired about Kurt four years ago, the guts to wear what he wanted to wear in public, the guts to be who he wanted to be regardless of what anyone felt about him, the attitude to speak his mind, and his free-spritedness, might translate as gross and unintentional parody when worn on a person just a few years older (or be interpreted as creepily superfluous and offensively conceited by a mind only a few years more mature).

Kurt took a long slurp from his red drink before flagging down a server and ordering another. Dave debated asking Kurt what he was drinking, but decided against it as it would likely lead, again, into Kurt's expounding of Dave's necessity to be educated in the gay social arts.

One thumpy dance song on the jukebox ended and led into another, and Kurt's face soured almost spastically.

"Don't like the music?" Dave asked, almost timidly.

"No, I _hate_ this song," Kurt's mouth hung open and his lip curled cruelly as his eye leered in the direction of the speaker.

"Really? Sounds like typical music for this kinda place, at least to me."

Kurt rolled his eyes, mock disgust. "Oh, I suppose if I was still living here in Ohio, this would be _okay_; but living in New York has really spoiled me. We're so much farther ahead of the curve than this place could hope to be. Or anywhere else, really."

At this, the server brought Kurt's second rosy-colored cocktail, and Kurt settled with him at the table before returning his attention to Dave.

"So where were we?" Kurt dramatically wrung his hands before continuing. "Ah, yes, you look good, David."

Dave's brow creased, confused at the nonlinear nature of Kurt's conversation.

Kurt reached out and grasped Dave's hand, Kurt's manner still twitchy. "It's okay. You're cute and you're smart. Maybe it doesn't matter that you're a tragic failure at culture. You'll get by on your brains."

Dave laughed for the lack of any other reaction, completely dumbfounded by Kurt's unconsciously insulting, elitist nature, finally saying, deadpan, "Thanks, Kurt; I appreciate that."

Kurt nodded, twitchy again, smiled and withdrew his hand, took another slurp of his drink, and asked, "So, do you like it in Portland?"

"Yeah, I _really_ like it in Portland," Dave answered, face suddenly expressing a level of enthusiasm. "I mean I consider that my home now. I've been here in Lima for a week, since last Friday night. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad, and I'm really happy to see him, but this place doesn't feel like home any more."

Kurt's face became more serious, an empathetic smile. "I understand. New York City's _my_ home now. How are your parents doing?"

"Um, well, my dad is fine, we had a great time so far this week. My mom and him split, though." Dave's tone darkened. "I haven't seen her for a couple of years, and my dad says I shouldn't try to see her while I'm here."

Kurt's face pained. "I'm sorry to hear that, David."

"Yeah, well, I can't do anything about it. It's the way things are," Dave nodded, sounding quietly ambivalent. "So, um, how are your folks? Your dad? Finn?"

"My dad and my stepmom are great," Kurt pronounced strongly. "My dad made a lot of friends during the half-term while he was a congressman. He's thinking of selling the business and retiring early. Finn actually moved to Canton and is running the first satellite branch of Hummel Tire and Lube. If dad sells the company, he's planning to put Finn in charge of operations as part of the deal for the buyer. That would put Finn in charge of everything mechanical and exclude all things clerical." Kurt made a melodramatic sigh of relief. "Once he got out of the army, Finn went back to work at the garage and proved that he could run the shop fantastically. The business end of things, though? _Disaster!_"

Dave chuckled. "Well, that sounds awesome for Finn. I guess you're still in school, right?"

"Yes," Kurt squeaked, bright. "Beginning my fourth year in the fall. You?"

"Same," Dave answered, hoisting his bottle and downing a gulp of beer. "I have a summer internship that I'm starting on the first of June."

"Oh, congratulations!" Kurt clapped a quick and tiny ovation with his hands. "I have been in a couple of small productions and I do freelance and consulting work for a fashion magazine and its blog. Keeps me in designer socks, you know?"

Dave chuckled, feeling more disarmed than earlier as Kurt grinned and pumped his eyebrows up and down quickly.

"So what are _you_ going to school for?" Kurt asked, sounding playful again.

"Electrical Engineering. My summer internship is at the research department of a sheet metal manufacturer. I know it doesn't sound very glamorous, but it's relative to my field." Dave took another drink and lowered his bottle to see that Kurt was staring at him with flirty eyes and a impish grin. Dave couldn't help but return the smile.

"What?"

"You being all _beau-monde_-tragic is suddenly sexy when it's combined with the idea of you performing lofty higher-math calculations in your head," Kurt spouted in a low, gritty tone. "You would be so incredibly hot in a pair of nerdy classes and a lab-coat."

At this, Dave voiced no reaction; he merely looked downward into the tabletop, grinned wide, and blushed.

"Are you seeing anyone, Dave?" Kurt asked. "Anyone special in your life?"

Dave shook his head, still smiling, the redness in his cheeks calming to his regular color. "Nah, there've been some guys I've dated here-and-there. Nothing for longer than a few weeks. Really, I think I just want to make friends right now while I'm concentrating on getting through school."

"Good man!" Kurt offered, impressed. "We're young! We don't need to be tied down! This is the time of our lives when we should be, uh, _living!_ And, um, _having fun!_ A lot of people make the mistake of thinking their first relationship is _the one_. I know _I_ made that mistake."

Dave smirked at first but his face sobered slightly. "So, um, you're not with Blaine any longer?"

"Oh, puh-_leaze!_" Kurt rolled his eyes as if disgusted by the suggestion.

"Dude, I haven't talked to you in years," Dave spoke quickly, defensive.

"I know, I know," Kurt shook his head, retracting the venom of his initial reaction. "I broke up with Blaine a few weeks after I moved to New York after he confessed to cheating on me."

There was a silence while Dave listened and Kurt seemed to be waiting for a reaction.

_"Well?"_ Kurt scolded, loud, causing Dave to jump in his seat, "Aren't you _surprised_?"

"Surprised at _what_?" Dave asked, quiet, "Surprised that he cheated on you or surprised that you broke up with him for it? Because, honestly, neither one surprises me."

"_What?"_

"I mean, Kurt, it probably would have surprised me a few years ago to hear that Blaine cheated on you," Dave explained. "Thing is, it doesn't surprise me now. I mean, there's no excuse for that behavior, but people do that kinda stuff. It doesn't surprise me that you broke up with him either because no one should put up with that."

Kurt nodded, quick, a slight scowl on his face. "I guess you're right on both counts. Blaine and I stayed friends, though. He proposed to me a few months later. I don't know what he was thinking because he knew I was dating this other guy at the time."

Dave shook his head. "He proposed to you when he knew you were dating someone else?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and bounced his head on his shoulders, taking another long sip from his martini glass. "Yeah, he knew. I guess he thought I'd drop everything to be with self-delusional, self-important Prince Blaine."

"Did the guy you were seeing at the time know about it?"

"Oh, no," Kurt answered. "I really didn't see a point in telling him. He and I are still together, though."

"Oh yeah?" Dave's interest piqued.

"Yeah," Kurt pulled his cell phone out of his stylish leather messenger bag and began poking at the screen, accessing the photo gallery. "This is him and me right here."

Kurt turned the phone for Dave to see the screen.

Dave nodded as he saw the image on the screen. "He's a handsome guy. You two look really great together."

"Thank you!" Kurt grinned almost childishly as he retracted the phone, considered the image, and held the phone close to his chest for a moment before returning it to his leather bag. "His name is Adam, he goes to NYADA also, and he's just great."

"That's cool," Dave remarked. "Similar interests and similar course of study, I guess?"

"Yeah, and he's from England," Kurt offered, excited. "Has the foreskin and everything."

Dave's face stretched and eyes popped: an uncertain expression of vague discomfort followed by a nervous laugh.

"Adam and I have been together for about two-and-a-half years."

"That's a long time," Dave offered, relieved that Kurt's latest statement contained no descriptions of physical details. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Kurt forced a rehearsed blush, smiling modestly.

"Two-and-a-half years? You two must be pretty serious."

"Oh, _c'mon_," Kurt giggled. "At our age, who's _really_ serious? Especially in a place like New York City."

Dave was struck silent by Kurt's statement: a puzzled, almost stunned expression on his face. Kurt looked away, still smiling, but with a hint of embarrassment reddening his face. He reached for his martini glass, almost instinctive, as if it functioned as a security blanket.

A disco-era song on the jukebox faded out to a loud rock-guitar, and Kurt's expression shifted to one of mocking sarcasm.

"Oh, my _word_," Kurt rolled his eyes. "Who would play a song like this _here_?"

"Oh, c'mon, I _love_ this song!" Dave protested, smiling a crooked smirk and singing along quietly when the vocals began.

"_I am still liv-ing with your... ghost, lonely and dreaming of the west coast, I don't wanna be your down-time, I don't wanna be your stupid game..."_

"Oh my _god_, David, you're _singing?_" Kurt's jaw dropped in charmed astonishment. "I've never seen you do this before."

"_With my big black boots and an old suitcase, I do believe I'll find myself a new place, I don't wanna be the bad guy, I don't want do your sleep-walk dance anymore, I just want to see some palm trees, I will try and shake away this disease..."_

"Oh my _god_, David, you're _adorable_," Kurt encouraged, smiling and watching Dave's confidence build as his voice increased in volume.

"_We can live beside the ocean, leave the fire behind, swim out past the breakers, watch the world die..."_

"I'm not annoying anyone, am I," Dave asked, self-conscious, smiling and swiveling his head after the first chorus.

"No, nobody can hear you back here but me, and I'm _loving_ this."

"Second verse gets louder," Dave warned, grinning, a slight blush to his cheeks.

"_Go for it,"_ Kurt challenged.

"_I __am still dreaming of your... face,"_

With the full-force of the music amplifying the second verse, Kurt began to bounce and pivot to the beat in his seat, raising his hands and pumping his fists, mouth open and smiling at Dave

"_Hungry and hollow for all the things you took away, I don't wanna be your good time, I don't wanna be your fall-back crutch anymore, I'll walk right out into a brand new day, You'll see me rising in my own weird way..."_

"Go, David, you're _killing_ it," Kurt spat as he playfully toughened the expression on his face, reflecting the hard-driving nature of the song.

"_I just wanna feel some sun-shine, I just wanna find some place to be alone..."_

Kurt joined Dave from across the table on the final chorus, boisterous smiles on both of their faces.

"_We can live beside the ocean, leave the fire behind, swim out past the breakers, watch the world die, yeah watch the world die..."_

As the final chords of the song decayed and it was replaced by another thumpy dance song, Dave chuckled to himself, and Kurt reached across the table, gripping Dave's shoulders roughly.

"That was _awesome!_" Kurt exclaimed.

"Thanks," Dave spoke, quiet and humble-sounding but beaming a smile.

"I had no idea you had that in you!"

"Um, neither did I, really, but my best friend and roommate back in Portland manages a rock band, and I guess I saw enough of their shows for something to rub off on me," Dave explained.

"Well, that was," Kurt smiled and nodded, pausing a moment, falling back into his seat "a really _amazing_ side of you that I never knew existed until just now."

"Thanks again, Kurt. Means a lot coming from someone who sings professionally."

Kurt nodded, still smiling, and leaned back in his seat, drinking again from his cocktail. "Adam had to stay in New York this week, he's in a show; otherwise I'd have asked him to come and stay with me while I house-sat."

Dave nodded, still smiling and slightly dazed from the adrenaline of a few minutes before. "I bet you talk to him every day while you're away, though, right?"

"Mm-hm."

"A couple of times a day?"

"Usually three," Kurt answered.

"That's cool," Dave smiled and leaned back in his chair, lifting his bottle and gulping its final contents, placing it onto the table and silently considering ordering another.

"So, I got the folks' house all to myself," Kurt spoke low and breathy, almost a whisper. "You wanna come back and keep me company tonight?"

Dave's eyes widened and his smile collapsed after several stunned seconds: a delayed reaction. "No, Kurt, um, I wouldn't feel cool doing that."

"Oh, _c'mon_, why _not_?" Kurt whined, playful. "I know liked me back when we were in high school, and you're being just... _irresistible_ tonight."

"Kurt, high school was... _years_ ago."

"C'mon," Kurt prodded, "It'll be your high school fantasy come true."

Dave closed his eyes and shook his head. "Kurt, I'm a different person now than I was back then." He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Kurt's. "And what about Adam?"

"What _about_ Adam?" Kurt's words seemed dismissive until he saw Dave's expression showing greater alarm, at which point he added, "What Adam doesn't know won't hurt him."

Dave shook his head. "So, what happens in Lima stays in Lima?"

"Yeah," Kurt uttered, bouncing his head, agreeable. "Something like that."

"Kurt, I can't."

"C'mon, Dave, you said before that you _expect_ people to cheat."

"What I said was that it doesn't _surprise_ me to know that people cheat," Dave corrected. "Doesn't mean that I _expect_ it. I don't think anyone should expect it unless they have an understanding of an, uh, _open relationship_ or something."

"How do you know that Adam and I don't have an open relationship?" Kurt quickly countered.

"Because you said before that what Adam doesn't know won't hurt him," Dave paused for a moment before furthering, "Implying that if Adam knew, he would be hurt."

The two sat silent and tense across the table from each other for several minutes: Dave studying his empty beer-bottle and Kurt staring into Dave's downward-turned face with a slight frown.

"I'm gonna get going, Kurt," Dave spoke finally, rising from his seat.

Kurt stood as well and summoned a small, polite smile. "It was nice seeing you here, Dave."

"Good seeing you too."

"You do look really good."

"Thanks."

"And as much as I would have loved you to spend the night with me, I respect you for turning me down."

Dave nodded and huffed a defeated laugh. "Thanks again. I think."

Kurt smiled more fully. "It's something admirable, even if I didn't get what I want."

The two stood facing each other for a time, both smiling subtly.

"Can I at least get a hug before you leave?" Kurt asked. Looking upward at Dave, bright-eyed.

"Yeah," Dave laughed, almost choked out of his mouth as he reached outward and embraced Kurt for a long moment.

"You gonna be okay getting home?" Dave asked. "I only had one beer. I'm okay to drive, but promise me you'll call a cab if you have more to drink, okay?"

They unlocked their embrace, and Kurt nodded. "I promise. I'm probably not going to stay here any longer anyway. Probably just go back to my parents' house and have a nice, long phone conversation with Adam."

Dave smirked. "Tell him that you ran into a guy you went to high school with. Tell him you made him sing for you."

Kurt's face brightened and broke into a gentle laugh as Dave backed toward the door, still facing Kurt, still smiling, and waving.

* * *

The flight from Dayton to Portland was somewhat less taxing than the one from Portland to Dayton had been. Dave's flight left Dayton International just before eight o'clock in the morning; like his flight ten days earlier, it was over eight hours in length including a two-hour stop (this time in Denver), but unlike the earlier flight, the three-hour time-zone difference worked in Dave's favor: it would be only one-thirty in the afternoon when Dave landed at PDX.

Also in contrast to the earlier flight, Dave had no trouble sleeping in transit. The boating and fishing excursion with his aunt, uncle, and cousins, excellent though the trip was, left him exhausted. The week had been filled with rewarding experiences (and a few less-than-rewarding ones as well), and he genuinely loved the time with his father, but he missed Portland and was eager to be going home.

As Dave passed through the arrival gate at PDX, he saw Scoop waiting for him on the concourse. As he approached, he unzipped one of his soft carry-on bags and pulled out a baseball cap, placing it firmly on Scoop's head upon arrival.

"What's this?" a baffled Scoop reached for his head and removed the hat to consider it.

"My dad and I went to a Reds game. I brought you back a hat."

_"Cool,"_ Scoop commented, perky, as he returned the cap to his head after admiring it for a moment.

The two instinctively moved toward the baggage claim area, Dave barely slowing from his earlier pace.

"Did you have a good time?" Scoop asked as they walked briskly.

"Yeah," Dave answered, bright. "I loved seeing my dad and some of my other relatives I hadn't seen in literally years. Ran into an old friend or two as well. That was interesting."

"Yeah?" Scoop sounded skeptical.

"Yeah. Interesting. Nothing more to say about that, really." Dave paused for a moment before asking, "How's it been with you?"

"Ah, the usual," Scoop replied. "Gearing up for that tour, but we have a whole month to do that. Did you miss me?"

Dave snickered. "Dude, I love my dad and some of the other people who I guess I never really realized that I missed before I saw them last week; but, yeah, I missed you, and I missed all my other friends, and I missed Portland. It's my home, and it's good to be back."

The two gathered Dave's suitcases at the baggage carousel and moved through the bustling areas around the ticket counters, into an elevator, and eventually arriving at the parking garage. They loaded Dave's bags into his car. When Dave began to walk toward the driver's side, Scoop shook his head and grinned.

"Sit yourself down in the passenger's seat, Scoop began. "Your brain is probably mush from that eight-hour flight. I can handle the drive back to our place."

"If you insist," Dave shook his head and smiled, seating himself in the passenger's seat as Scoop instructed.

Scoop drove the car out of the garage and into the afternoon sun. Dave swiveled his head, observing the surroundings.

"Scoop, um, my car is as clean as it was when I left."

"Yeah, I know," Scoop replied.

"Um, I told you that you could use it while I was gone. Did you use it at all?"

"Yeah," Scoop answered. "I used it a few times. I don't think I put more than fifty or sixty miles on it, but I drove it here and there."

"It doesn't look like you used it," Dave offered, still taking in the car's interior.

"I made sure I kept it clean," Scoop turned to smile at Dave. "Even washed and vacuumed it out for you."

"You feeling okay?" Dave asked with a smirk.

"Dude, you let me use your car for a week while you were away. It was the least I could do to make sure it was cleaned out for you when you came back."

Dave shook his head, smiling. The two were silent for a moment before Dave spoke again.

"How are you and Katie doing?"

"Katie's great. We're getting along great. She stayed over a couple of nights when you were away."

"That's cool," Dave nodded. "Y'know, you don't hafta wait until I'm away to do that."

"Well, the opportunity just didn't ever kinda present itself until last week," Scoop answered. "Katie will be going to Europe with me and the band also."

"That's awesome," Dave offered, approving.

"Hey, you heard from that John guy?" Scoop asked. "Talk to him at all lately?"

"Nope," Dave answered, low. "I got busy with finals and he said he was crazy on his end with film-festival stuff. Said we'd regroup after that. Katie heard from him? They're like best friends, right?"

"Actually, Katie hasn't heard from him except for some text messages and stuff like that. She said he was really busy with that film-festival as well, but that's all gonna be over in a couple of weeks."

Dave eyed Scoop's face thoughtfully as he drove. "You kinda grew to like him a little, didn't you?"

"Yeah, John's alright," Scoop answered. "I mean for a guy who came off like a complete nut-case at first, he kinda seemed to become a normal kinda guy. I mean I still don't know him all that well, but we've all had good times together, and Katie will vouch for him. You kinda like him?"

"Yeah, and I don't know how exactly I feel about him."

"What's _that_ mean?"

Dave chuckled. "What that means is I like talking with him, and I've had fun with him, and, yeah, we had really awesome sex one night. I'd see him again. Other than that, I can't say how I feel, and I _really_ don't know how he feels."

Scoop shrugged and nodded. "You guys seemed like you coulda made a cool couple."

"Yeah."

* * *

_Referenced song: "Santa Monica" by Everclear_


End file.
